


Guardian from the Shadows

by Star (docfics)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Plot With Smut, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Violence, past reaper/76, reaper redemption arc, warning for depression and lots of icky sick moments where gabe is sad and pukey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docfics/pseuds/Star
Summary: Lúcio has always tried to see the best in people. He knows that evil is out there, and yet, he wears his heart on his sleeve and seeks out the good in those who have fallen. But none of these past experiences have prepared Lúcio for putting his life on the line for one of the most broken souls he has ever met.





	1. Scream

**Author's Note:**

> so i really adore Lúcio/Reaper and there's not enough content! so here i am!! this series will have a couple of spinoffs (mostly smut stuff that can be avoided if you're not into any of the content) and although it mainly focuses on lucreaper there will be a side part to this series that is roadrat <3
> 
> i hope y'all like it. this is gonna be a fun series, slow burn and redemption arcs ahoy!
> 
> if you ever wanna shoot prompts or talk to me about ~overwatch~ my twitter is https://twitter.com/bpdbun !!! or you can find my writing blog over at docfics.tumblr.com <3

_Ooh my my_  
Baby don't be shy  
I see that spark flashing in your eye  
My heart beats fast 'cause I want it all  
So baby come with me   
And be my ooh la la 

\--"Lúcio!"

He startles, pulling the headphones from his ears. Hana is in front of him—well, her mech is standing in front and _far_ above him. "Geez, Lúcio! You have our backs today, so you gotta focus! And listening to random pop isn't focusing!" she waggles one of her mech's hands at him, threatening and yet somehow endearing. “Listen to your own music in battle, you goof!” 

Lúcio cocks an eyebrow at her. “Hey, we still have--” he looks to his side and notices everyone else has been grouping up, and it really was just him sitting behind. Shit. “..No time, apparently!” he hops off the ledge he was perching on, fumbling with his weapon and switching out a few cords till a familiar pulse was resonating through the air. He rolled his shoulders and shot Hana an apologetic look, grin sheepish as she rolled her eyes at him and reached out a hand past her mech to bap him on the head. “The biggest goof.” she chided, before she stomped ahead of him, situating herself right near the entrance of the abandoned temple they were residing in.

Lúcio rolled his shoulders, trying to get his head in the game. The past few days had been exceptionally busy, and as a result he felt drained. First a tour: a great one—really great. But also one that left his throat raw. He had gotten the notification from Winston that they would need to go into battle right on the second day of the tour, so as soon as the day after was done, he was right on his bus and heading to Nepal.

Apparently there was talk of Talon trying to topple one of the temples, as well as holding several high-ranking members of the peaceful omnic community there hostage. Tracer and 76 had arrived before everyone else, doing minor damage control, but there was a need for backup. And since Mercy was away treating a fresh round of war victims, Lúcio had been called in. He didn't mind, this is what he _wanted_ to do, but it did take a toll on a guy, especially when he was running on little sleep (he never slept well when camping out) alongside meals of protein bars and energy drinks. But as long as everything went smooth here, they could head back to the nearby base the next day, and he could sleep peacefully in a comfy bed and wake up to Ana's cooking.

Realizing that everyone else was moving, he shook himself out of his thoughts, pressing a button that raised the volume of his music. Putting his foot down, he easily slid forward and slipped between his teammates, the music reaching a powerful volume and sending them running quicker, stronger. Lúcio swerved easily in and out, making sure everyone in their little group was receiving the full effect of his song. He saw Hana give him a little thumbs up out of the corner of his eye, and he saluted at her before watching her blast off, landing on a nearby pillar and swiveling around, scoping the area.

Everyone was quiet, the only sound his music, muffling even breathing and footsteps. Lúcio stayed between 76 and Zarya, spinning in little circles as he waited for the first command. It didn't come in its usual way however, instead, he was startled by a sudden shove and the sound of gunfire, catching himself before he fell. He quickly backed up, eyes drifting to the smoking hole in the grass where he had been. 76 had pushed him and was currently firing his rifle at what Lúcio realized was Widowmaker. God, she almost got him right in the chest. Lúcio inhaled deeply, flicking his wrist over his weapon and letting soft, healing tunes cascade over them. His beating heart slowed considerably down—thank god, that near-death experience was way too shocking for his tastes. He lifted his legs and hopped right onto a wall—skating quickly over the heads of Zarya, 76 and Hanzo, letting his music wash over them. He saw 76 had a small patch of his coat missing from where he must have been grazed earlier, and Lúcio was pleased to see the wound was already beginning to close up, the melody pulling the skin together into nothing more than a scab. Not too shabby.

He hopped on and off walls for another few minutes, keeping close to the group and watching Hana out of the corner of his eye. She was doing well—taking down a small group of talon operators, helping the others to push ahead. Feeling confident that they could cover plenty of ground with an extra bit of _oomf_ , Lúcio glanced at the charge on his weapon. A solid 100% had built up over the course of their pushing, and so he flicked a small switch and pushed himself off the wall. Soaring in the air, adrenaline coursing through his veins in a way that made him feel like he was flying, he twisted the weapon towards the ground and _slammed_ it down, signaling his powerup with “Let's break it _down!_ ”

The team's performance improved immediately—running faster, hitting harder, and clearing an obvious path through the rush of Talon's guards. They were nearing the temple, 76 in the lead, when suddenly everything felt cold. Lúcio brought one of his arms up to clutch around his chest, watching as his breath suddenly came out as a puff. Glancing around, mist had begun to pool and collect around the heroes—and everyone tried to come to a stop, Zarya's booming “RETREAT!” echoing off the walls. 

The voice faded in, soft at first and then louder as the signature call of “Die, die, _die._ ” rang out. A thick shape billowed up from the middle of the mist—and Lúcio felt like time stopped before shots began to ricochet all around them, sudden and deadly. Lúcio immediately hopped up on the closest wall, pushing himself forward to escape the circle of death that was sprouting from the figure in the middle.

He silently prayed that the extra push of his weapon's ult would help carry his team out, and so far, it seemed like his prayers were answered. He saw Tracer escaping easily and hiding behind a pillar, with Hanzo and Zarya quick behind. 76 was backing up, but slower than the others, and Lúcio hopped off the wall, ducking behind a few pillars as he tried to make his way to 76. Yet he wasn't quick enough, because he saw the man—Reaper--solidify and point a gun right at 76's chest, and in Lúcio's head he _knew_ that was going to be lethal, or at least close to it. He was about to rush forward, try and push the apparition aside, but a sudden flash of pink rushed by, causing him to fall on his backside, and Hana was in front of 76, the side of her mech taking the shot.

Reaper had obviously forgotten about her, because he took a step back in shock—and his moment of hesitation gave Hana the perfect opportunity to swivel her guns right at his chest. The resulting attack was catastrophic—nailing Reaper directly in the chest, stepping closer to deliver what, to a normal person, would have been a fatal wound. But while not deadly, it obviously hurt Reaper immensely, because the otherworldly howl that escaped behind that mask was one of sheer pain. Lúcio clamped his hands over his ears, his headphones ringing as he watched Reaper dissipate into a mist. 76 started shouting commands, everyone grouping back up—except for Lúcio, who felt stunned. The cries still rang in his ears, drowning out the music and causing his stomach to twist into anxious knots.

Reaper was the enemy, but _holy shit._ He had sounded like a wounded animal, terrified, and Lúcio felt a pang of sympathy. Swallowing heavily, he leaned back on one hand to support himself before pushing up off the ground, standing on his feet and shaking his head to clear the cries from his conscience. He needed to focus on his team—and that meant forgetting about what happened. If not just for a moment.

The rest of the mission went smoothly. Widowmaker seemed to have disappeared, and the rest of the talon guards were easily eliminated or captured. The omnics were successfully rescued, and since they seemed to be shaken up, 76 suggested that they camp out at the temple for the night. The others agreed, sans Zarya, who didn't seem too keen on staying with omnics. They came to an agreement by allowing her to stand guard, as the rest settled in. The general atmosphere in the room was that of victory and praise for Hana's quick rescue, but Lúcio's head was still pounding and he found it hard to join the festivities. He could see the others looking at him oddly, so to shake off their worries, he said he was still worried about any stragglers and offered to go check and see if Zarya was alright. Hana gave him an odd look, but the others seemed to think this was a good idea.

So that's where he found himself now—keeping true to his word and checking on Zarya, making quick conversation before he decided to take a quick skate around the temple. He knew this was a bit of a risky move, but he did have his weapon, and since Zarya had reported no disturbances, he decided he could get away with a walk. He lazily made rounds around the temples, one headphone in his ear while he kept the other out in case anyone was trying to sneak up on him. But despite the brisk air and generally peaceful atmosphere, he couldn't stay focused on anything besides what had happened earlier.

Lúcio was well aware he had a big heart, and it caused him to take risks. But he still prided himself on trying his very best to make logical decisions that had the best outcome for both him and the people around him. Normally. Right now, he wasn't very proud of everything going on in his head. A repeat of the shriek that had echoed around the temple, the soft, pitiful groan that soon followed—wait, no. What? That groan was real-time, coming from a crack nearby in one of the temple walls. Lúcio hesitated, knowing this was a very stupid decision—but he slowly skated forward, hand gripping onto his weapon. He quickly shut the music off, opting to keep it on in case he needed to blast whatever was in the back.

Kneeling down, he saw the crack was actually a couple of feet wide, the opening normally obscured by a fallen pillar. He hesitatingly began to crawl forward, taking a deep breath to steady himself and not have a bout of claustrophobia from the walls around him. He only had to crawl a few feet before it opened up more—and he realized he was in some kind of abandoned boarding hall, most likely used in the past for newcomers to the omnics group that resided here. He carefully stepped around a few broken down beds, his skates making soft noises on the ground—and yet, the soft noises of pain didn't stop. Whatever was back here was too focused on their hurt to hear him. He followed the noise, hand gripping tighter around his weapon—and when he turned, his suspicions and fears of what the noise was were confirmed.

He looked horrible. There were small puddles of thick ooze surrounding his figure, which was half-solid at best. The mask had been partially lifted up, but Lúcio couldn't see his face because of how he was hunching over. Still not realizing someone was here, Reaper hunched over and vomited into one of the pools of blackness on the floor, the dark sludge dripping out of his mouth looking like tar. The room smelled like—well, death, and Lúcio couldn't help but hold back a gag. Somehow, that was the noise that alerted Reaper, and his head snapped up, mask slamming back over his face as he let out a warning snarl. Lúcio was well aware that if Reaper wasn't currently decaying right in front of his eyes, he would have lunged at him. But instead, he just turned into a mist, attempting to escape—but only reaching a further corner in the room, curling up into nothing but a ball of swirling darkness. 

There was silence for what seemed like an eternity, but finally, Reaper spoke.

“Well?”

Lúcio snapped to attention, realizing he had been clenching his weapon so hard his hand was starting to ache. “..Wha?” was all he could muster, and his expression must have been so ridiculous, because Reaper made a nasally kind of noise, as if he was laughing.

“Aren't you here to finish me off? Odd...that they chose you to look for me. You don't seem like the one who mercy kills. Perhaps Jack didn't want to do the deed himself, so he sent one of his little underlings to do it.” Lúcio swore that the eyes on Reaper's mask narrowed, hatred and misery radiating off him in horrible waves, that made the air in the room seem suffocating. Lúcio knew that he should be mad: he should alert everyone else of Reaper's presence, at _least._ But no, all he could do was stare at Reaper with pity in his eyes, and that seemed to make the man even angrier. Snarling now, goop trickling down his chin and escaping the mask, he spat at Lúcio, “What are you _standing_ around for, you—” 

Whatever insult he was going to finish his outburst with was lost as Reaper crumbled down with a full body shudder, his body beginning to break down into little flakes of blackness that were floating away. He had started gasping, shaking as if he was getting no air into his lungs. He seemed to be in enough pain that he had temporarily forgotten about Lúcio, and the pitiful state he was in fueled the impulsive decision that Lúcio then decided to make.

He skated over quickly, keeping a few feet between him and Reaper in case he lunged, and started frantically pressing buttons on his weapons. He knew between his lack of proper equipment and Reaper's general unwillingness towards anything positive that it would be hard to properly heal him. But he needed to try.

The megaphone began to pulse in his hand, music starting to fade into existence, and Lúcio flicked his wrist over it, changing the music to the healing tune he had played earlier. He wished he could make it softer, because Reaper visibly cringed, but there was nothing he could do with just the megaphone. It was loud for battle, but also effective. He balanced on his skates, keeping a watchful eye on Reaper, ready to back up if the healing effects gave Reaper his second wind. 

It took almost a minute before Reaper's breathing began to calm—and he coughed up a little bit of sludge, weakly bringing his arm up to wipe it away. Another cough, but nothing came out. A good sign. The seconds ticked by, Lúcio watching dutifully as Reaper's shoulders relaxed slightly, fragments of his body breaking off less and less as it rebuilt itself. The smoke around him began to solidify, and Lúcio breathed out a sigh of relief. It worked.

His relief was quickly replaced by horror as Reaper shot up—so quick, so _rabid_ and a clawed hand clamped around Lúcio's neck, a shotgun pressed tight against his head. It wasn't a lie what stories and movies had said—Lúcio honestly felt his entire life flash before his eyes, and he couldn't even cry. He just felt cold as the hand slowly tightened around his throat, the shotgun pressed harder against his head. He was going to die, because his big heart led him to help someone who held nothing but bloodlust and hatred in his heart.  
Reaper was breathing heavily, and Lúcio tried to inhale, but all air was blocked by the claws wrapped around his neck. Blackness was starting to creep into the corner of his vision, and he silently apologized to his friends, to Junkrat and Hana. Was Reaper saying something? Cursing him? He thought so, but everything is so dark--

And suddenly air rushes into Lúcio's lungs, he's been let go and he drops onto his knees and gasps. His throat throbbed, sore and painful as he hacks and struggles to take in huge breathes, filling his lungs with much needed air. He looks up weakly, wanting to run, but apparently for Lúcio, a near-death experience piques some kind of morbid curiosity in him.

Reaper is leaning against the wall, head in his hands, making some kind of noise that's a mix between a sob and a snarl. Lúcio should run. He should run before he's dead, before Reaper finishes what he started, but he just stares at him. Because Lúcio has seen people at a breaking point, has had people of every age come up and tell him his music was the reason they didn't take their own lives. And hearing something like that makes him want to rescue every damn person he's able to, even if they're the literal embodiment of darkness. 

It's just the kind of person he is. He's not stupid, he knows that. He's smart, a capable person, but he knows how easy it is to wear his heart on his sleeve. To relate to someone's suffering. Lúcio takes a slow breath, rubbing at the skin of his throat. The pain is a little less intense now, just scratchy, and he tests his voice.

“Why did you do that?” Hoarse, but he's able to speak.

Reaper doesn't move, or reply.

Lúcio tries again. “Why? Why did you attack me, and why did you stop?”

Claws are slowly pulled away from his face, and Reaper's mask turns to face Lúcio. Silence, before a curt, shaky “Leave.”

A hint of stubbornness mixes in with all of Lúcio's current emotions. He shakily stands up, holding his weapon with both hands. He was going to be prepared this time if something went wrong. “Hey! I think you kind of owe me an explanation for why you tried to kill me and then stopped?” Reaper's reply startles him, a yell of “I don't _know!_ ” and then he covers his face again, an inhumane noise of sorrow escaping him once more.

Lúcio stares at what is a broken man, and his eyes drift around the room, thinking of what he should do. He suddenly has an idea, and slowly skates over to a wall. It's dusty enough for the purpose he needs it for, and he starts writing down an address. When he's done, he turns to Reaper, who has been watching him curiously.

“That's an address I'll be at in two days. There's obviously something going on, because...” he doesn't say it, but they both know. Lúcio should be dead. “I'll have my weapons. Not to fight, but for protection. If you...if you need help, you can come there.”

Lúcio believes in people. He knows there are people out there who don't want redemption, he knows not everyone can be saved. But he also has heard the rumors about Reaper, about who he was. About who he still might be. Reaper doesn't say anything, and Lúcio decides it's time to leave. But before he goes, he nods at the address once again. “Two days. If not..” he waves his weapon at Reaper, who flinches. “I guess the next time we see each other will be on the field.” He's greeted by silence once again, and Lúcio turns to leave.  
As he crawls through the hole and stands out in the cool air, he hears Zarya calling for him. He skates towards her, reassuring her that everything is fine—when it's not. It's really not, Lúcio thinks, as the gravity of what he just did settles in on him. Two days, and he might be meeting with a terrorist, someone who has tried to kill him and his friends multiple times. But he can't take it back now, all he can do is face forward, see if perhaps behind that mask...

Is someone worth saving.


	2. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lúcio and Reaper meet, and Lúcio sees a ghost's true emotions, hidden behind Reaper's terrifying and dangerous exterior.

_"These tears are real_  
_I'm jealousy_  
_I'm spite and hate_  
_To the core I'm mean_  
_I'm nearly human_  
_Look at me_  
_I'm almost a human being “_

Lúcio turned off the radio and slumped against the wall.

The next couple of days flew by in a blur of people asking if he was okay. Hana not so subtly trying to pry info out of him—and of course, of Junkrat shaking his shoulders and loudly bellowing “Lúcio, you awake in there?!” And yet, none of it mellowed out the idea that very soon, he may be putting his life in immediate danger because Lúcio Correia dos Santos apparently didn't know when someone was too far gone to save.

Now that the fateful day had finally come, Lúcio was a wreck. He had arrived at the casita he was renting for the week, and spent most of the day pacing back and forth, clutching his weapon. He made food at some point but barely touched it, instead setting it aside on the living room table and curling up on the couch. The weight of everything that had happened—the battle, extending a helping hand to a dangerous enemy—was making him tired, but he refused to fall asleep. He didn't even want to turn on the TV, because the noise made him feel vulnerable. So instead, he sat on the couch, casting glances around him every few minutes. Time ticked by, and Lúcio began to grow restless, glancing over at his phone, feeling guilty as he saw the flood of instant messages from Hana. After a quick scour of the room, he grabbed his phone to read over what she had sent.

[1:19pm.]  
d.va: hey what r u doing???  
d.va: are u ok??

[1:47]  
d.va: ok not to be a worrywart but i know ur not on a tour so i just wanna make sure ur ok  
d.va: if ur napping sorry!! hope this didn't wake u up ly!! <3

[3:47]  
d.va: wake het fuck up sleepy boy  
d.va: *the  
d.va: no het here everything is gay  
d.va: did i tell u the cutest girl ever sent me fanmail a few days ago  
d.va: i cried a little  
d.va: i'm just gonna ramble until u answer me  
d.va: anyway she's so cute she sent me a pic with this fanart she drew of me  
d.va: she had this cute afro mohawk and like big ole glasses  
d.va: do u think i would look good with a mohawk?  
d.va: like i won't get one but. Consider.

[3:57]

d.va: http://imgur.com/RxKWH0p  
d.va: shit sorry that was for junkrat but u can enjoy it too  
d.va: i said it looks like him  
d.va:

“sexy  
-jrtherat 3:58”

[4:03]

d.va: FUCK  
d.va:

“http://imgur.com/a/MqKL9  
this one is roadhog  
-jrtherat 4:01”

d.va: im losing it his boyfriend is gonna kick his ass if he sees that  
d.va: or just grunt  
d.va: i wanna get to know roadhog more but he's so mysterious  
d.va: kind of spooky

[4:47]

d.va: ok i hope ur ok :(  
d.va: please just message me like i know i should just let u chill but  
d.va: idk esp after a recent battle i get so nervous

Lúcio couldn't help but smile at the pictures, but the smile instantly dropped when he saw the final concerned messages. Deciding a few messages wouldn't hurt, seeing as how Reaper hadn't shown up yet, he picked up the phone and started typing back.

frogboy: Hey! I'm so sorry man i'm here.

He paused for a moment , feeling bad about lying, but responds anyway.

frogboy: I was napping, i'm fine tho  
frogboy: Really, really sorry to worry you hana

d.va: ughhh ok glad ur ok. sorry i'm such a worrywart just!! u know :(  
d.va: the whole danger of living in our current timeperiod  
d.va: LOL

frogboy: i know  
frogboy: Like, i really get it. But i'm safe dw  
frogboy: those dogs seriously look like junkrat and roadhog though, i'm a little concerned.  
frogboy: are you sure those just aren't selfies?

d.va: i'll ask  
d.va: he said “those r my nudes”  
d.va: there you go

frogboy: Ew.  
frogboy: Hey if i go quiet again, I'm probably napping. I'm pooped. I'll message you as soon as i wake up okay? c:

d.va: bbbb ok!!! ilysm lu thanks for dealing with me <3  
d.va: normally i'm a big ole tough mech pilot but i swear u make me soft :P  
d.va: wait shit rq  
d.va: junkrat just said he wants to adopt a dog  
d.va: gottaa convince him that's a bad idea i might have to get backup from u later  
d.va: ok byeeeeeeee!!!

froggyboy: Oh boy. good luck with that. :s

Right before he set his phone down, he received a message from Junkrat that read “i'm getting a doggggggggg” He chuckled, poor Hana, she was on her own for this one. He set down his phone, still clutching his weapon as glanced around the room, wondering if he should try and eat again—

“ _FUCK!_ ” He jumped back, throwing his weapon up as his eyes landed on Reaper, who was standing coolly against the wall, arms crossed as he stared at Lúcio from behind his mask. Lúcio was speechless, heart pounding in his chest.

Reaper let out a low, sarcastic chuckle, his hands coming together for a moment to clap mockingly at Lúcio's outburst. “Congratulations. You didn't notice me for a solid three minutes.” A pause as he crossed his arms again. “I could have killed you.”

Lúcio's heartbeat hadn't slowed, and in fact, he felt like it was about to jump up his throat. He inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to calm down, before shooting a glare at Reaper. “Who..who does that? Just stares at people? Is that some kind of like..ghost thing?” he sputtered, slowly sliding off the sofa and standing up.

Reaper shrugged. “I was just waiting for you to look up.”

This felt like a conversation between two bantering roommates, not enemies. Now that the initial shock of Reaper's appearance was beginning to fade, Lúcio knew he should be feeling on guard—but quite honestly, he just felt slightly annoyed. Reaper hadn't moved since they had started talking, and Lúcio noticed he wasn't all there. His legs kept fading in and out of existence, the rest of his body fuzzy around the edges, little bits of mist breaking off and disappearing into the air. Lúcio realized he's staring a second too late, because Reaper suddenly growls. “Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer.”

Lúcio's ears instantly go red, feeling way more embarrassed than he should be. He coughs, opens his mouth to say something—then just sighs. What is he doing? “....How...how are you feeling?” he decides to ask. It's polite and simple. What he doesn't expect is for Reaper to almost seem caught off guard. Sure, he can't see his face—but his shoulders tense a little bit, and he shrugs. Again.

“I'm dead. I'm decaying. You saw, and I'm assuming you told all your buddies about it, mmm? Leaving out the important details of our meeting, I'm sure.”

Lúcio was feeling just a _bit_ frustrated by Reaper's sour attitude, but who could blame him? Last time Lúcio saw him, he was probably in one of the most vulnerable positions of his life. Or, well. Un-life? He isn't sure what to call it. “No, I didn't. I didn't tell them anything. I...It didn't feel right to tell them.” He ignored Reaper's scoff. “I brought you here because I want to help you. I know you probably don't want to hear this, coming from someone like me, but...I saw how much you were hurting. I can't believe you're doing as well as you are right now.” No answer, but Lúcio pushed on. “At the moment, it doesn't matter to me who you are. I just saw someone in pain, and I want to help. I genuinely, honest to god want to help.” Reaper is still silent, and Lúcio's fingers clench tight around his weapon. “C-can you at least answer me?!”

Reaper doesn't answer. Instead, he bent over—and retched, hands flying up to grab at his mask, and he slams one hand onto the wall as he empties the contents of his stomach all over the rug. It's a different color than last time—blackness-filled with blood-red flecks, like stars on a night sky. Reaper trembles, takes in big, gasping breathes as if to steady himself, and Lúcio has no idea how he even managed to put on such a calm façade the entire time.

“Reaper—fuck, why didn't you say anything, we could have gotten you to my equipment already. Why--” he's cut off by a weak snarl, the man's neck snapping up so the eyes of his mask bore into Lúcio's own. He can barely stand, and opts to drop onto his knees, other hand clutching tight around his stomach.

“ _Why?_ ” Comes the answer, viciousness threaded in between the weak gasps. “Do you think I fucking want you to see this? Maybe you're oblivious to the concept of _enemies_ but I'm well aware that any moment, you could take me out.” A gasp as he bends over farther, his other hand wrapping around his stomach. “I can't go on like this, _fuck--_! This isn't even the...the first time. Every day...” he weakly flexes his hand, a chunk of his finger ghosting away, before slowly rebuilding itself, particle by particle.

“Every day this gets worse, it hurts, it fucking _hurts_ and no one, not that damn doctor, not Talon—no one can fix it. So like a desperate idiot, I came to you, and I bet you can't do shit either. I can't even go back to Talon like this—I'm falling apart, they don't take broken, undead things like me _back!_ ” he finishes the last part with a guttural noise, a sob barely held in.

“I'm desperate enough to come to you for help. Some bright-eyed member of Overwatch with a savior complex. So what—so you can sing me a goddamn lullaby and suddenly everything gets better? I was an idiot to come here, and I wish you would just do what I...what I requested before.” Reaper sighs, arms starting to wrap slowly around more than just his stomach, hugging himself. “Kill me. But you won't, because you're the good guy.”

Reaper seems to have finished, and Lúcio has nothing to say. While the man was talking, he had felt several emotions—pity, anger, and even a moment of hopelessness—Reaper's miserable outtake on life rubbing off him for just a moment. But he shakes it off, staying silent as he extends his hand, taking a step towards the dying man.

“Take it.”

Reaper doesn't move, and for a horrible second, Lúcio thinks this is it. Maybe he can't help him. Maybe he really came here on an impulsive whim and won't follow through. That this is it, someone is going to die. But all thoughts are banished as a clawed hand reaches out and takes a tight—and yet, surprisingly otherwise gentle—hold on his own. Lúcio slowly pulls the ghostly figure up, trying to keep him steady as Reaper wobbles, but the man pushes his hand off, grunting out a “I'm fine.” Lúcio bites his tongue to keep from pointing out the contradiction between that statement and Reaper's previous outburst, and instead, cocks his head. “This way.”

He makes his way to the room with his equipment, peeking back behind to see if Reaper is following—and to watch his back. He's startled when he realizes Reaper isn't there—but a sudden coolness around his ankles leads him to look down, and see the black mist swirling around on the floor, keeping close to him. He supposed this was easier for Reaper, to stay as this mist instead of a solid form. He made no comment, just led them to the room, opening it up.

He hadn't been able to get all his equipment, just some speakers and some basic sound-making apparatuses. Slightly frustrating, but he had been working within a time limit. Plus, he had no idea what additional equipment or what rhythm he would need to do anything about Reaper's current condition. He had thought about trying a new song, but decided to start simple and set up a few simple healing rhythms he often used when him and his friend's prosthetic limbs began to ache. If it worked for phantom pains, maybe it would work for phantoms. Lúcio had chuckled when he thought of this, but now, the situation didn't seem funny.

The room looked nothing like a medical ward. On the far back wall was all of Lúcio's equipment—and the rest of the room was blankets, cushions, a few random knick-knacks that Lúcio himself felt comforting, all illuminated by lamps that let out a soft green glow. Even though he was only renting the casita, he had spent part of the past two days setting up a room to work in. Partially to help keep his nerves busy, and partially to make it nice for his guest. He gestured around the room, murmuring “Take a seat.” He waited as the mist floated around the room, Reaper picky about where he chose to sat. Lúcio figured it was because he was in a strange, dangerous environment, and waited patiently until Reaper decided to solidify onto a black beanbag in the corner of the room. It was odd, watching him fade in, the mist and particles that he was made of following him around the room and aligning onto the faint outline of his body. It gave Lúcio a bit of a headache to watch, so he turned and began to turn on his equipment.

Once he had the settings where he wanted them, he slowly turned the volume up, a soft melody beginning to float out of the speakers. It wasn't the usual kind of music he produced, it was like satin, no lyrics except the soft hum of his voice to add his own touch to the song. It filled the room like a flock of butterflies, winding through the blankets, around their ears, and Lúcio felt the tension slowly ease out of his shoulders. He knew he should still be on guard, but the music made him want to sink back into a chair, tilt his head back and let the waves of sound carry him off to a far away dreamland.

He didn't ever want to be egotistical about the effect his music had on everyone, including himself. He just was proud he managed to create something that helped so many people. Flicking a switch on the side of one of the boxes, the music grew a little louder, vibrating through their bones and dancing above their head, note by note. Lúcio realized he had been so caught up in listening to the song, he hadn't checked on Reaper. He snapped his gaze over to the beanbag, suddenly afraid at what he might see—and what he saw instead made his heart break.

Reaper had slumped back into the beanbag, one hand over his face as he drew slow, deep breaths, and Lúcio heard a soft sigh escape his lips. The edges of his features had already solidified, the mist disappearing as the music washed it away, cleansing Reaper of the shadows that dug into his very being, pulled out nothing but sickness and pain. Lúcio felt a small smile tug at his lips as he leaned back against the side of one of the speakers. It was working, it was _actually_ working, and Lúcio closed his eyes, fingers slowly moving back and forth against his side to the sounds filling the room.

The song was roughly a minute from finishing when the calmness of the room was interrupted by a frustrated groan. Lúcio's eyes flew open, and without thinking, he covered ground quickly to kneel beside Reaper, not even paying attention to how the man instinctively leaned away from him. When Reaper spoke, his voice was laced with disappointment. “It went away,” he whispered, voice breaking just a bit as he clutched at his mask in frustration. “It became a dull throb, it did, and then it _stopped._ Fuck..fuck—FUCK!” he shot up, ignoring Lúcio as he tumbled back, and grabbed the at his gloves, snapping them deftly off and tossing them against the wall. Hands now free, he buried his head in his hands and _screamed_ , the sound trailing off into a wail, like a man sentenced to hell itself. Lúcio didn't know how to react—and he felt even more helpless as the wail turned into full on sobs, Reaper's shoulders hunching up as if to hide him from the world, from everyone that had hurt him, and from Lúcio.

“I didn't want this—I don't know what I wanted, I-I can't remember but...not this, never this. NEVER this, I can't do this anymore.” He sobs, seemingly unaware of Lúcio picking himself up and taking slow, careful steps towards the distressed individual in front of him.

“Reaper--”

“That's not even my name.” the man snaps, almost clawing at the mask, looking as if he wanted to take it off but his body itself was fighting against him.

“Okay—but listen. Listen. I can help. That was just a practice run. One song out of many. I can do more, I can—if you keep coming, I can help you.” Lúcio felt like he wasn't even registering what he was saying, it was so absurd. “I won't give up on you. I saw...I saw how peaceful you looked. Nothing like..”

He swallows, hesitating, then deciding to continue bravely on. It's now or never. “Nothing like the man I see on the battlefield. That isn't you, and I can help you become you again. Please. Don't go back to Talon, don't go back—stay here with me and I'll heal you.”

I'll save you, he wants to say, but he doesn't. Not now.

Reaper has gone silent, and he slowly lifts his head from his hands, turning to lock the mask's gaze on Lúcio. The void in conversation seems like an eternity, until Reaper laughs—a small one, hollow as he rubs one hand on his forehead. Lúcio watches as a large part of his hand breaks off, floating away and dissipating into nothing.

“Stay with you. I could kill you in your sleep.”

Lúcio rolls his shoulders, rolls his fear off his back. “Well, don't.”

“It might not work.”

“You don't know until we try.”

“I can leave, you know that, right? You can't keep me here.”

“In your condition?”

Reaper pauses, trying to think of more excuses, and Lúcio's sure there's plenty. But Reaper seems to know Lúcio isn't going to accept no for an answer, and he lets out another little laugh, letting his hand drop from his forehead, holding it out to shake. “One week. Let's see what you can do, miracle boy.”

Lúcio stares at the hand, a little shocked that Reaper actually gave in that easy. But it's a start—a start to what, he isn't quite sure. But something feels—okay about this. Lúcio doesn't know why, because he should be absolutely terrified. But he can't help but let out a little smile as he slides his hand against Reaper's, a chill spreading up his arm and to his spine. He holds back a shiver.

“One week.”

Lúcio may have just made a deal with death, but he still feels hope. One week can be a long time if you use the time right.

And Lúcio plans to spend every second he can healing the man in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was tricky to write, but i'm really happy how it came out! big thanks to skullgunnery.tumblr.com for helping me to edit, as always <3
> 
> song is "Almost Human" by Voltaire
> 
> i loved writing the chat scenes and i hope you like reading them!!!!!!!


	3. Dangerous

_"Give me a break_  
_I'm melting away_  
_You're so dangerous_  
_Or is it too late?_  
_Gotta know what's on your mind”_

He closes out his Youtube app, too annoyed by the song playing alongside the perfume ad to even wait for the video load.

Lúcio was tired, and it had only been a day and a half.

He knew he was pushing himself too hard. Staying up till the wee hours of the morning, eating nothing but one cup of instant ramen (which he hadn't even cooked the whole way through.) He just really hated his current lack of inspiration. When he had entered the room the day before, he was full of hope, ready to produce something that would literally bring Reaper back from the dead. But the paper he had brought to write notes on remained blank. He would scribble a few lyrics, tap his pencil to a few beats in his head, but nothing was coming to him. The pencil Lúcio held was a physical reminder of his frustration, dozens of chew marks on the eraser.

Lúcio stood up, cracking his neck. He needed a break, he decided, leaving the room and going into the living room. He thought maybe he could watch one of his shows, but was surprised to find Reaper sitting on the couch, watching late night infomercials. Lúcio stood there, half-taking in the peppy lady talking about some kind of blender that would leave no lumps, _no lumps at all_! Where was his infomercial for “beautiful song that would bring a man back from the brink of death?” Lúcio sighed, and turned to Reaper.

“You know, I have movies you could watch.” He gestures to a small rack he had brought with him. “And I have Netflix.”

Reaper was silent, and Lúcio huffed under his breath. Maybe he hadn't heard him. He raised his voice. _“I have Netflix.”_

Reaper finally turned towards him, the mask the same as ever, but Lúcio could feel annoyance radiating off the man in waves. Reaper spoke, slow and deliberate, as if he were talking to a child. It made the back of Lúcio's neck prickle. From annoyance. Nothing else. Yeah.

“I find these calming. I've never used Netflix, nor do I wish to. It's probably all,” a deep breath, “absolute garbage.” he finished, crossing his arms and promptly kicking his boots up onto the coffee table. Lúcio rolled his eyes, deciding this was a lost cause, and walked out of the room. He opened the refrigerator, staring blankly inside, disappointed in what he found.

“Did you eat all my food?” He yelled into the living room, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a carton of yogurt. Expired. Groaning, he tossed it into the trash can, then jumped back, startled to see Reaper leaning against the counter, watching him. “Jesus—what are you, a cat? I can't hear you coming.” Reaper is about to speak, but Lúcio cuts him off. “I know, I know. You could have killed me. I get it.” Irritation leads him to boldness, talking to Reaper as if he was a lifelong friend. “But you didn't. And there's no food. And I'm gonna get some.” Fresh air would do him well.

He grabbed a sweater he had slung over a chair, sliding it over his tshirt and throwing the hoodie over his head. He turned to Reaper, who _still_ hadn't said anything. Lúcio holds back a sigh, and forces himself to smile. No sense in taking out his agitation on a man who frequently mentioned how easily he could kill him. “Do you want anything?” He offers, and Reaper just...stares.

The smile instantly drops from Lúcio's face. There's no reason Reaper can't at least give him simple, one word sentences. Milk. Eggs. He throws his hands up a little, voice tinged with annoyance. “Okay then, have fun sitting here watching some lady teach you how to properly churn egg whites. I'm out.” Grumbling, he grabbed his keys and wallet from the counter, stuffing them into his pocket and stalking out the door, slamming it behind him.

Lúcio tried to be kind. He really, truly believed kindness towards people was one of the keys to getting to know them better. But Reaper's silence and generally uncomfortable presence was incredibly aggravating. Coupled with the guilt of harboring a literal terrorist, Lúcio wasn't feeling too happy right now.

At the store, he threw whatever he wanted into his cart, keeping his head down. He didn't really feel like being recognized today, feeling vulnerable and unsure of his immediate future. Luckily, the lady who checked him out was an old woman who seemed to care more about her chipped nail than him, and Lúcio managed to get out of the store without any hassle.

As he made his way back to the casita, the anger he felt towards Reaper began to dissipate. He couldn't blame the man. The only interaction he had ever had with Lúcio was when they were fighting, and then he had just broken down in front of him. He probably felt just as vulnerable as Lúcio was feeling right now, and Lúcio felt his anger be completely replaced with sympathy. Glancing at the bags he carried, he hoped one of the things he had blindly grabbed was something Reaper liked. He wanted him to like it. He wanted Reaper to know Lúcio was sympathetic—he wasn't ignorant of what Reaper had done, but he wanted to show him that he wouldn't hold everything against him as they work together. That his feelings last night were valid...a symphony of sympathy...

A light goes off in Lúcio's head and he suddenly has inspiration, an idea for a song. Excited and suddenly eager to get home, he decides to quickly duck down a nearby alley in an attempt to use it as a shortcut. Completely lost in his thoughts, it doesn't occur to him what a stupid decision this is—and that he left his weapon at home in his rush to leave.

It's sudden when he's hit soundly in the back, bags scattering everywhere as he falls flat on his face. The pavement is rough, and his knees suffer bad scraping, but he manages to catch himself with his hands before his face hits the cement. A sudden weight is on his back, and he feels something sharp on the back of his neck. Oh, god.

“I know you.”

The voice is unfamiliar. Some kind of street vermin.

“You're that pop star. That hero.”

Lúcio screams at himself in his head, curses his stupidity, clenching his teeth together in fear.

“Don't—I have money. My wallet is in my back pocket. Just let me go, I didn't see your face.” He begs, and the reply is a nasty laugh.

“Please. I bet you hardly carry a cent in that wallet. The real money—that's in all your fancy banks and shit. No..I bet I could hold ya ransom. Lots of people who would want their hero safe, right?” The knife is still pressed in his neck, and Lúcio frantically wonders if he can push himself up, quick enough to throw this asshole off his back.

There's a sudden loud _oomph!_ and Lúcio wonders, has his body gone into automatic? Did he just push that guy off? But no, he's still laying face down, covered in dirt and with his knees throbbing in pain--

He hears the man scream, followed by what could only be described as an _enraged_ snarl. Lúcio scrambles up, fearful of what's happening, and what he sees in front of him is horrifying.

Reaper—Reaper with mist flowing around him like a cape, Reaper with claws out, tearing the man apart, who is screaming in pain and fear—Reaper with the eyes of his mask glowing bloody red. Lúcio acts fast, running forward and yelling “Let him go, let him go—don't kill him, it's enough, it's enough!” Reaper isn't stopping, and Lúcio is scared but he grabs Reaper's arm, tugging him back, trying to snap him out of the murderous rampage. And for what? Someone who was attacking _Lúcio?_ It doesn't make sense, but now isn't the time to think about it.

He honestly thinks the man is going to die, have his throat torn out by the ghost. He's bleeding heavily, face slashed several times, bruises appearing on his neck where Reaper was attempting to throttle him before Lúcio intervened. Reaper is still weak, and for once Lúcio is thankful for that, because it means he can stop him, stop him from killing the man. As he pulls him back, Reaper growls, and Lúcio turns to the man. “GO! Go and don't you ever show your face anywhere near us again!” He yells, and the man is quick to comply, clutching the open wounds on his face as he scrambles away, disappearing out of the alleyway.

Reaper is panting, winding down and becoming worn out from the attack. Lúcio is still holding his arm, terrified that if he lets go, Reaper will ghost away and never return. He's well aware the man could easily escape—shake Lúcio off and dissipate into nothingness, but he doesn't. He merely swallows, coughs loudly, and pulls his arm away from the singer. Lúcio is about to open his mouth, ask why the _hell_ Reaper is here—but he's interrupted by the spirit.

“I saw you left your weapon at home,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Which was idiotic, by the way. So I decided to follow you and make sure you didn't get your ass kicked. Which you almost did.” A scoff of “medics” before he stands up, shaking his hands and splattering flecks of blood on the street.

Lúcio gaped at him, unsure how to react. “...You followed me?” He asked, blinking dumbly at Reaper, who sighed. “Why didn't you show up sooner?”

“Well, I couldn't just show up in the middle of the street or store looking like this, could I?” Reaper grumbled, crossing his arms. “Oh, by the way, no thank you required for you know, saving your life.” he sounded almost—sulky. It would be funny if the situation hadn't felt so serious. Lúcio had a million thoughts running through his mind, and between that and the shock of what just happened, he felt all his earlier energy sapping out of his bones. Sighing, he leaned down and began to pick up his bags, feeling a small spark of relief that none of the food had been damaged. Reaper watched him, and when Lúcio turned around, Reaper was holding a hand out.

“What—” Lúcio started, before he was once again rudely interrupted by Reaper, who grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. “Hey hey, what—knock it off—” he starts to say, before darkness. Darkness surrounds him and suddenly Lúcio can't breathe, he is floating and he is dying, living, he is nowhere—

And then he's in the casita. In the kitchen, thank goodness, because the bags are dropped as he rushes over to the sink and spits up bile, stomach churning and head throbbing. He hears rude laughter behind him, and he whirls around—instantly regretting moving that fast as he grabs the counter to steady himself.

“Do you ever give anyone a fair warning before you do shit? I mean, come _on_ , I thought I was—I don't know! I thought you ate me!” He shot a pointed glare at Reaper, who just kept laughing—and then there's a sudden snort and the laughter stops, Reaper freezing up.

It takes Lúcio a moment to realize where the sound came from—and then, despite his frustration, he can't help but smile. “Was that...a snort?” He questions, and Reaper immediately turns away with a “fuck you” and starts grabbing groceries from the floor, opening the refrigerator and shoving them in rather violently. Lúcio remains where he is, still recovering from the shadow-stepping, his stomach beginning to settle down. There is silence as Reaper works, and Lúcio slowly steps over to the kitchen table, sinking into the chair. Exhausted, he leans his chin on the back of the chair and watches Reaper—watches an overdressed ghost casually put milk away in the fridge.

“...Thanks.” Lúcio finally says, and Reaper pauses in examining how many eggs are cracked. Lúcio continues. “For saving me...for watching my back. And for putting the food away.” He's rewarded with a grunt, which is more acknowledgment than what he was given this morning.

“I can't let you die during this week.” Reaper replies, deciding the eggs are a lost cause and going to toss them into the garbage disposal. “We made a deal. And I usually keep my promises.” The sound of the garbage disposal temporarily prevents any further conversation, and it allows Lúcio to think. He didn't like how violent Reaper had been earlier—but the situation had been terrifying, and Lúcio didn't feel too bad about what happened to the man. Hopefully he could find some peroxide and what not. After all, he had tried to mug him. Or worse...Lúcio shivered. He did have a knife. Who knows what could have happened if Reaper didn't come? Musing over how Reaper had mentioned that he had to wait because he couldn't show up around normal civilians made Lúcio think. An idea popped into Lúcio's head—bizarre and potentially dangerous—but it could work out really, really well.

“Hey. I have an idea. It's out there, but hear me out.” Reaper didn't make a sound, but he did tilt his head a little to the side as if listening. Lúcio continued on, stomach churning once again, but this time from nerves.

“You saved my ass back there. I'm serious. I could have been in big trouble.” He ignores Reaper's self-satisfied “I know” and continues on. “I need someone like you to watch my back. Even if it's just for a few days while I work.” He pauses to take in Reaper's reaction. The man has turned to him, leaning against the counter and staring Lúcio down.

“...You want your enemy to watch your back.” Reaper finally says, and Lúcio slumps a little down in his seat. Of course it sounds weird. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Look. I said a week, and I'm gonna do my damn best to figure something out for you. But a week is short. A week is really fucking short—and you need more than a week of recuperation, anyway.” Reaper starts to say something, and Lúcio cuts him off, growing a little louder. Now that he was speaking out his idea, he felt almost like he was giving a speech—on fire and ready to convince. “You said you were tired of this all. I'm giving you a break! Some time to sit back while I do the work. And all I ask is for someone to watch my back. Maybe not—as violently today. But you know...watching me from the shadows. Something you do well. I need--” a deep breath.

“I'd like to give you an opportunity to help someone. Help me, and be my bodyguard.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Reaper standing still as Lúcio's words soak into his brain. Finally, he sighs—low, almost defeated.

“You can't redeem everyone. You don't know what I've done.”

Lúcio vigorously shakes his head, dreads bobbing against his back. “I'm not you. So I don't know, and I don't know what you're going through. I'm not asking you to do this just because I think it'll suddenly make you some kind of hero—I'm just offering an opportunity. You can do what you want with it.” he inhales. “I would really like if you took it, though.”

Why does he want him to take it? Lúcio can't pinpoint the exact reason. Yes, part of him wants Reaper to see there is a possibility for change. That there's ways out of the miserable, suffocating hole he's dug himself into it. Another part of him could really use someone watching his back. Sure, that someone is one of the most dangerous criminals known, but hey. It's someone. And there's another part of him that he can't quite figure out—that's confusing, making his head spin when he reaches out to try and pull the feeling towards him. It's something...soft. New.

He doesn't want to think what it is.

Reaper, he realizes, has been tapping his foot and staring at Lúcio, waiting to be noticed. Lúcio immediately sits up, face a little flushed with embarrassment at having zoned at the moment of such an important decision. “Sorry—I'm sorry. Did you say something?”

He can't see, but he swears Reaper rolls his eyes. “I said—fine. I'll try it this week, and if more time is needed, I'll consider extending my visit.” He glances down at his hands, which seem to be fading in and out of existence. “Like I said, I can't go back to Talon looking like this. _However_ , I hope you know I have the power to break this agreement anytime. Like I said, I usually keep my promises. Note the usually.”

Lúcio can't hold back a grin. Sure, Reaper is threatening his life, per usual—but the slow rise of excitement bubbling up in his chest drowns out the fear trying to crush him down. This could be good. This could be really good.

“Okay, what's your size?”

Reaper stares at him.

“What.” He says, then suddenly grows defensive. “Wait, when you said bodyguard, what the hell kind of duties were you thinking—”

“Oh my GOD.” Lúcio throws up his hand, cutting off Reaper and effectively covering what he knows is his face growing red. What the hell. “Your shirt! Your clothing size! I have to get you normal civilian clothes, that's all!”

Reaper goes silent, obviously embarrassed, and Lúcio tries to still the uncomfortably quick beat of his heart. “Oh.” He mutters, turning away from Lúcio. The silence stretches out, the only sound Lúcio's still quick-beating heart. Finally, Reaper speaks.

“Just...send me pictures. I'll tell you if I like them or not. And take your weapon, and don't walk through any alleyways. I feel like shit after exerting that much energy.” Reaper rolls his shoulders, still not looking Lúcio in the eyes. “...Also, I like black.” He mutters, as if that much wasn't obvious. Lúcio feels a grin slide onto his face. “You don't say.” He replies, before sliding off the chair. “I'm gonna go now.” Reaper turns to him this time, tilting his head a little.

“You want to go out again so soon?” He questions, and Lúcio shrugs.

“I mean...sure, that was scary. But it's not like I haven't been attacked before. I'm in Overwatch, remember? Plus, I love shopping.” Maybe he'll pick out something for himself while he's there. Reaper lets out an involuntary little snarl at the concept of Overwatch, then drifts into the living room. Lúcio grabs his keys, his wallet—and this time, his weapon. Looking at his phone, he cringes as he sees all the messages from Hana. Shit. He makes a mental note to answer them in a moment, quickly texting the company that he hires his drivers from. “Hey, uh—can you put your number into my phone? So I can text you pictures?” He walks over to Reaper, handing the phone over to him. Reaper looks as if he's surprised Lúcio trusts him with the device, which in reality, is funny. All the things Lúcio has already trusted him with and yet, this one surprises him. Lúcio glances up at the screen, and holds back the biggest grin as he sees what's on the TV. Netflix. He's watching that new series, Stranger Things.

“Do you like it?” He asks, and Reaper looks up from where he's delicately typing on the phone with his claws.

“Your phone? No, the screen is too sensitive. I keep hitting the wrong number.” The spirit grumbles, pushing backspace again.

“No, the show. Stranger Things. What episode are you on?” Lúcio questions, and Reaper gets defensive again.

“I was just using it as background noise.” He mumbles, and Lúcio decides not to point out that it's paused right on a very exciting part. As if the person watching it didn't want to miss it. Reaper hands him the phone back, and Lúcio glances down at it. The name is “Death” with two skull emotes.

Was it weird he found that a _little_ endearing? Yeah. It was weird.

“Alright. I'll be back.” Reaper doesn't say goodbye, but he does wave his hand at Lúcio, and Lúcio can't help but peek behind him before he walks out the door. Just in time to see the man unpause Stranger Things and lean back to watch it.

Lúcio stifles a laugh and sits on the steps.

His ride arrives soon and he's taken to a nearby clothing store. He's glad he's wearing the hoodie, because he still doesn't particularly feel like being recognized. Today had been a strange, nerve-wracking day. He just wanted to have a little fun and try not to think about everything that had just happened.

Oh, Hana.

Hovering next to a pair of black skinny jeans—ok, really tight—he takes a picture and sends it to Reaper before opening his IM.

[Yesterday]  
d.va: wakey wakey eggs and bacey  
d.va: if u sleep too long you'll throw off ur sleep schedule  
d.va: pretty boys like u need ur beauty sleep! > w O )c

[1:57 AM, today]

d.va: yo u never messaged me back..is everything ok?  
d.va: junkrat did not get the dog btw  
d.va: it was a close call. roadhog had to rush to the pound to stop him.  
d.va: iiiii feel a little responsible but well everything is ok

[3:00 AM]

d.va: going 2 sleep but PLEASE message me back lu  
d.va: feel like something is off u know?? ugh im such a worrywart just  
d.va: be safe ok?

[11:59 AM]

d.va: ily :(  
d.va: be ok

Lúcio's heart sinks and he immediately types out a response.

[4:44 PM]

frogboy: Dude I am so so so so so sorry  
frogboy: I got into making a new song  
frogboy: I legit forgot my phone existed  
frogboy: I am 100% okay

frogboy: forgive me?

He wondered if she would forgive him if she honestly knew what he was doing. She wasn't messaging him back, so maybe she was busy now. Or maybe she herself was harboring a criminal. Lúcio laughed even though it wasn't funny. Laughing just made him feel a little better. He decided to focus on the task ahead of him and banish worry from his mind, if not just for a little bit.

He looks at his messages.

1 message from Death.

Why was he smiling?

Death: croptop size XXL  
Death: skinny jeans just need to have room for big thighs

Reaper did have big thighs. Strong, he had noticed them when the man was lounging on the couch. His pants were already kind of like skinny jeans—tight and very nicely complimenting said thighs. Lúcio feels the tip of his ears warm up and he closes his phone. Weird, weird—he feels weird. That was a weird observation, Lúcio, he chides himself. Weirdo. A pair of floral shorts distract him from his internal monologue, and he's delighted that they're his size. White with green leaves and little pink roses, they were adorable. Lúcio grabs them, slinging them over his arm along with the croptop.

The rest of his shopping trip primarily focused on Reaper. He grabbed himself a cute tanktop to go with the shorts, but besides that, he picked up several more articles of clothing for Reaper, including a beautiful skirt that Lúcio could only describe as ethereal. At one point, his height became a disadvantage as he tried to reach a sweater that was way too high for his arms to reach, even on tippy toe. Luckily, a kind sales clerk came and helped him grab it, folding it neatly and putting it in his bag. She took note of the size and gave Lúcio a sly wink. “I'm sure whoever you're getting that for is gonna love it.” She chirped, and Lúcio felt like he was going to die because of the absurdity of this entire situation. He just chuckled awkwardly and nodded before shuffling over to the counter, wanting to check everything out as quickly as possible.

His phone rang, and he got looked at the text.

Death: I need shoes  
Death: High heels. Size 11.

Lúcio really was going to die. His ears were _burning_ and he hated it, telling the cashier to hold on as he made his way over to the shoes. He tried to choose something simple, because what if he got some kind of fancy shoe and Reaper took it wrong, and oh god he was overthinking this so bad. He snagged the closest pair of size 11 black heels he could and dumped them on the counter. Handing his card to the cashier, he sighed. “I want to go home.” He said, well aware of how pathetic he sounded. He needed sleep before his brain screwed him over even more. The cashier just gave a sympathetic look, nodding her head as she checked him out. “Me and you both, darling.”

He falls asleep on the ride home, clutching his weapon and using one of the shirts as a pillow. When he arrives, he gives Reaper a tired smile as he sets the bags on the sofa, plopping next to him and slumping against the comfortable cushions. “Enjoy. It's on me.” He ignores Reaper's little jab of “I wasn't going to pay you anyway,” and lets his eyes close, wanting nothing more than to sleep—

“Hey!” The urgency in Reaper's voice startles him awake, and he glares at him, stifling a yawn.

“What?” He grumps, grabbing another pillow and sliding it under his head.

“...Aren't you going to go to your room and sleep? I'm here.” Is the question he receives, and Lúcio rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I'm starting to think _you're_ more concerned about killing me than I am,” he jokes, but he's met with a painful silence. He glances over and sees Reaper looking at the floor, shoulders hunched up. Lúcio realizes he just hit a sore spot, but he doesn't know why.

“...Are you--”

“I'm fine.” Blunt, Reaper grabs the bags. “I'm going to my room.” He says, and then turns and walks away with another word. Lúcio blinks, confused—but his exhaustion has finally caught up with him, and he decides to let Reaper work it out on his own.

The last thing Lúcio thinks of is that skirt before he drifts off into much needed slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you recognize where the song is from
> 
> i'm sorry for my poor taste in music


	4. Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lúcio and Reaper feed some birds.

_"I told her thank you_  
_She said that's it_  
_I got real nervous, she kissed my lips_  
_And in that moment, I swore, she was all mine_

_We got to talking, and she began to compliment me_  
_Said that she likes the way I sing,_  
_And perhaps she could help me_  
_But I was caught up, in the pain behind her eyes_

_She said, make me a bird, I'll fly away_  
_Beyond the confines of the sick, sick game_  
_I said, make me a bird, and I'll fly too_  
_Don't care where, just want to spend some time with you_  
_A little time with you"_

“Why are you listening to someone else's music if you're working on your own?” Reaper asks, and Lúcio turns the volume down on the radio so he can hear him better.

“Background noise.” Lúcio replies, taking a bite of the bagel, tongue flicking out to get a gob of cream cheese left on his cheek. Reaper makes a noise of disgust, and Lúcio sticks his tongue out at him. “Just like Stranger Things. Oh, did you like it? I noticed it was finished. And then rewatched. You must realllly like the sound of people screaming.”

“I do.” Reaper huffs, ignoring Lúcio's mild look of concern. “......It has room for a sequel.” He finally grumbles, shrugging his shoulder. “I'm just hoping they don't fuck it up.”

Lúcio chuckles under his breath, finishing off the last bit of the bagel and wiping his hand off on his shirt. “Hey, how does this sound—” He taps the side of his leg, starting a beat before softly singing along.

_Sympathy, sympathy_  
You are my symphony  
Of soft words and warm stares  
For me to know you're there.

Reaper gags. “Sounds like a love song.”

“Hey—n-no!” Lúcio shoots back, a bit more defensively than he should. “I mean, it can be love—but love sprouting from concern. Someone wanting to understand the other person—of trying their best through every little action to be there for the other.” He hums a little, drumming his pencil against his leg. “A symphony of sympathy.”

“Well, you are understanding.” Reaper says, and then promptly leaves the room, Lúcio's mouth hanging slightly open and his cheeks warming up.

It's been like that for the past four days. Reaper is all gloom and doom, and then suddenly he says something so blunt and honest and leaves Lúcio's emotions in shambles. The singer has no idea how to react to these admissions—part of him thinks it's just a way Reaper manipulates people. And the other part honest to god hopes Reaper means every word he says. He swallows, throat suddenly dry and head feeling clouded. Great, he's completely out of his song writing headspace and into—whatever this is. He heaves a sigh from the very bottom of his lungs and snags his phone, flopping back onto a pillow and deciding he needs someone to talk to.

He double checks that Hana hasn't sent him anything—but she's away, probably doing a livestream. Normally he would try to attend them, but after apologizing to her about his recent absence, he gave her an excuse about working on a new song. Which was true—but he conveniently left out who it was for. It seemed to satisfy her, and their talk had turned casual. Comforting, but he still felt guilt gnawing at him every time he talked to her.

He decided that right now, he needed Junkrat.

[2:30 pm]

frogboy: hey!  
He checks his email until he's notified by a little 'ping!' that Junkrat is there.

jrtherat: yo  
jrtherat: guess what i did today?

frogboy: uh oh.  
frogboy: Do I want to know?

jrtherat: maybe  
jrtherat: iblew up a little ice cream station at a truckstop  
jrtherat: now igot a lot of ice cream

frogboy: Junkrat.  
frogboy: That's stealing. Come on, man.

jrtherat: ok uhhh yeah and i wanted ice cream??  
jrtherat: see the dilema here  
jrtherat: dilmema  
jrtherat: enema  
jrtherat: hehe

frogboy: Ok, ew. But honestly, no one was hurt, right?

jrtherat: nah  
jrtherat: u know idont wanna hurt anybody nomore  
jrtherat: well usually  
jrtherat: there's just a big hole where it was  
jrtherat: and I HAVE UNLIMITED ICE CREAM

Lúcio rubbed at his forehead with his head, deciding it would be hypocritical to lecture Junkrat about not doing criminal things, when he hadn't been a model citizen recently.

frogboy: Well, enjoy the ice cream I guess.  
frogboy: Next time just...pm me. ill treat you

jrtherat: almost as fun as blowing it up

frogboy: Almost.  
frogboy: Anyway, I have uh kind of a weird question?

jrtherat: my fav kind of question!!!!!! :^)

frogboy: Heh, yeah. Uh...okay, here goes.  
frogboy: When did you first realize you wanted Roadhog to be your bodyguard?

jrtherat: okay so iwas like  
jrtherat: “alright mate I dont want to die out here”  
jrtherat: and I have all this treasure  
jrtherat: and everybody wants 2 stab me soi says to myself  
jrtherat: gotta find me a big lug to watch me ass  
jrtherat: then I see roadhog and im like  
jrtherat: Now THATS a big lug  
jrtherat: and hmmm iwas right ;)

frogboy: Ew x 2???  
frogboy: But you uh, paid him at first, right?

jrtherat: yah  
jrtherat: for a couple of years. and then we started jus splitting things without saying much abt it.  
jrtherat: and soon it was like uh  
jrtherat: whats the word  
jrtherat: oh yeah partners!  
jrtherat: like partners instead of just a busines thing

frogboy: And then you fell in love with him?

jrtherat: UH  
jrtherat: ok that is a complicated story Lúcio? ?/ /  
jrtherat: u know I got all kindsa problems so at first I had no idea what was going on

frogboy: ..So you were confused at first?

jrtherat: im always confused but yah  
jrtherat: cus we started fukin and  
jrtherat: ithin were just fuckbuddies  
jrtherat: then hog saves me one day and I realize he actually cares ???  
jrtherat: I cryed a lot  
jrtherat: it was weird  
jrtherat: and I was scared  
jrtherat: HAHA overshar ing tme much??? anyway  
jrtherat: i realized I wanted him to watch my back all the time

This was sounding—oddly familiar. Lúcio felt a chill go down his spine, and he swallowed. Loud.

frogboy: But it took YEARS right?

jrtherat: well  
jrtherat: yeah  
jrtherat: but now that I look back j realized it happened quick !!!!!!!1  
jrtherat: just didnt see it  
jrtherat: why yu asking? :^)

frogboy: Honestly just curious.  
frogboy: ...Well...

jrtherat: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Lúcio HAS A BOY?????????????

frogboy: NO!  
jrtherat: mate u so do im telling dva

frogboy: NO NO please dont  
frogboy: Please.  
frogboy: It's a weird situation and I really would like to keep it between us right now. I wanna tell Hana on my own  
frogboy: Please Jamie?

jrtherat: oh dont bring out the jamie  
jrtherat: u kno I can never go against that :^|  
jrtherat: ur secrets buried safe w me  
jrtherat: like a mine

frogboy: Thanks...  
frogboy: I actually could use a friend right now, though. Just a lot going on.  
frogboy: could you maybe come out here soon? I can get you a ticket?  
frogboy: I'll take you for boba! It'll be great.

jrtherat: ooooooooooooooooooooooooo  
jrtherat: ughhh iwanna but  
jrtherat: jacky said we gotta do this mission  
jrtherat: stealing something background

frogboy: Jacky?

jrtherat: soldier dude

frogboy: Oh  
frogboy: You know he doesn't like to be called Jack. Try and call him 76 at least, okay?

jrtherat: UGHHH I know its just weird ta call someone numbers is all  
jrtherat: jamie will do better :<

 

frogboy: Haha, I know. But that's good.

frogboy: When are you done this mission?

jrtherat: s'big stakeout thing

jrtherat: like im already in trouble cus of the ice cream thing

jrtherat: we had to move

jrtherat: oops

jrtherat: but its gonna be fine only like two weeks or so?

 

frogboy: Two weeks? Jeez dude..

frogboy: Seriously, no more blowing up ice cream cases, okay?

 

jrtherat: OKAAAY geez u sound like hoggie

jrtherat: speaking of hoggie gtg

jrtherat: video cam soon ok?? MISS U :^)

jrtherat: byeeeeeeeee

-jrtherat has signed off-

 

Lúcio types out a “Bye, be safe!” for Junkrat to see next time, then stares at his phone for a moment. A sudden wave of emotions hits him, and he lets out a little “AGH” of frustration and tosses his phone onto a pillow, falling back onto his back and staring at the ceiling. The end of the week was drawing near, and not only did he not have any progress to show—he was struggling with his own conflicting emotions. Ones he still really didn't want to name.

He stares at the ceiling until he hears a slight rustle, and cranes his neck. Reaper is back in the doorway, arms folded as he takes in Lúcio laying on his back.

“You're such a hard worker.” He snarks, and Lúcio tosses his pencil at him. Reaper easily sidesteps it, and Lúcio juts his lip out at the mask in a pout.

“I'm doing my best! Maybe some helpful critique would be nice, instead of, you know. 'Sounds like a love song.'” He does his best, grumbly intimation of Reaper's voice.

“I don't sound like that.” Reaper responds, instantly grumbly. Lúcio smirks, slowly pulling himself up with a small whine of complaint. He wanted to keep laying there, but knew he shouldn't.

“...Hey, I have an idea!” He immediately perks up, bending his knees and effortlessly flipping himself up. “Let's go into town!”

“What.” Is the response he gets.

“Town! Let's go into town. We haven't been out of this casita for a few days—we're breathing stale air! C'mon, it'll be fun!” Lúcio is bouncing from foot to foot, new energy coursing through his veins. This will be great—fresh air will clear his head out of all these weird thoughts. He's sure of it.

“I don't _want_ to go out. The sun hurts and I hate people and _will you stop dancing!_ " Reaper barks, and Lúcio just laughs at him, turns on his heel and practically skips past him.

“We can just go to the park. Come on, no one will bother us. Please? Pretty please? You can uh, do bodyguarding stuff. Like protect me from squirrels and shit.” He's rifling through the fridge, looking for a soda to bring.

“I can't leave without wearing my mask. And if I wear my mask, people will recognize me.” Reaper's voice is sullen, like he knows he's fighting a losing battle. Lúcio is slightly proud at the fact he's possibly going to convince Reaper to slither on outside, but pauses at the legitimate point the man brought up.

“Huh...man, we're gonna need to get you a new mask eventually. One that looks cool and goes with my whole frog theme. Maybe not a frog, but a reptile...” He takes a sip of the soda, ignoring Reaper's whine of “ _I like my mask thank you very much._ ” Humming, he sidesteps around the man and goes into his room, shuffling through his bag and producing a pair of sunglasses and a bandana.

“Ta- _da_!” he says, offering them to Reaper. “Now everything will be covered up. And you can continue to make faces at me without me actually seeing what you're doing. Happy?”

Reaper is definitely glaring at him, and Lúcio chuckles, going back to his room. He chucks off his lounging clothes, looking around the room—and his eyes settle on the new outfit he had bought.

He hadn't worn it yet outside of trying it on, because once he got home, he realized how short the shorts were. Sure, they made his ass look good—but they weren't “laying around at home clothes.” At least—not laying around with company. Er, with company at his house. Damnit. He shakes his head, staring at the shorts.

But it _was_ warm out.

And he _did_ look cute in them...

Plus, he reminds himself. Reaper probably will just grimace at the overly bright pattern. He won't care at all. Realizing this slightly disappoints him, and he wants to smack his head on the wall. “Will you just—calm down?” He mutters to himself, grabbing the shorts and wiggling them on. “I know you can get easily attached to people, but you're acting kind of silly, Lúcio. Time to take it down a notch.” He tosses on the tanktop, pink with the words “flower child” on them. Lipstick would look good too...dare he? He huffs, getting ready to chastise himself again. He never would have a second thought about putting on lipstick if Reaper wasn't here.

“You seriously need to get a hold of yourself. We get it, you're really gay. But this isn't the time to be overenthusiastic and gay. This is a time to help someone out. Stop overthinking shit.” He applies bubblegum pink lipstick, popping his lips and smiling at himself. Eyeshadow would also look nice, but he decides this is enough for a walk in the park.

“You're gonna be fine. You're not going to keep entertaining these thoughts, dude.” He smiles at himself, worries washing away. He was just being silly. Getting close to someone and thinking it was what, a _crush?_ Maybe you need to write a song for yourself about how sometimes your head just isn't on tight. He laughs at himself, grabbing a bag with long straps and slinging it across his chest.

Yeah, everything was fine. He walks out, waving at Reaper, who is opening the sunglasses to put them on. Reaper is about to turn away, but stops halfway—and Lúcio sees his eyes. He's has never seen Reaper without his mask on—and although the rest of his face is obscured by the black bandana, Lúcio is captivated, unable to tear his gaze away. Reaper's eyes are shockingly clear, with gray surrounding the pupils and tiny flecks of red flaking throughout. And those eyes are wide, full out staring. At him.

Everything was not fine.

The silence seems to stretch on for an eternity before Reaper shoves his sunglasses on, turning abruptly away as Lúcio stands there, frozen and red faced.

“...We're going to the park, not the fucking salon.” Reaper finally says, and Lúcio inhales deeply, steadies his knees.

“It's a nice day out.” He responds, hoping his voice sounds confident, but it really just sounds oddly squeaky. He curses at himself. “I-it's a nice day out and I just felt like looking good.” Jesus, Lúcio. Reaper doesn't respond, just pulls his hoodie farther over his face and skulks to the door. Lúcio follows him, grabbing his wallet and tossing it into the bag. Reaper holds out the door open and then lets it almost shut on Lúcio, which is rude and Lúcio normally would call him out for it, but he's kind of shell-shocked right now.

Lúcio leads the way to the park, the silence between them absolutely deafening. Finally, he decides to speak up, break the awkwardness. Make some noise.

He's blessed by the presence of a particularly bright colored bird, landing on the fire hydrant in front of them and tilting its head. “Oh, hey! That's a golden swabble! Fun fact—they only migrate for one month out of the year, and that month is December. Then they're back in January. It's like a mini vacation.” He kneels in front of the hydrant, the bird chirping at him. Obviously used to people, it allowed Lúcio to dig into his purse and pull out a half-eaten bag of crackers, taking one and crumpling it into crumbs. He scattered the crumbs onto the sidewalk, then took out another and offered it to Reaper.

Reaper stared at it, then raised an eyebrow at Lúcio. “Crackers make birds fat, you know.”

Lúcio watched the bird eating, letting his eyes slightly roll at Reaper's suggestion. “Okay, I know, but crackers make us fat too, and we still eat them. This bird's average lifespan is like, three years. Give it some crackers.”

“It's lifespan will be less because it'll die of bird obesity.” Reaper mutters, but he kneels next to Lúcio, effortlessly crushing the cracker and letting the crumbs spill out of his hand. They've attracted a few pigeons, which greedily devour the crackers—once even bouncing right up to Reaper, tilting its head and cooing for more.

Is that a smile Lúcio sees behind the bandana?

“Do you like birds?” Lúcio asks, taking a cracker out of his purse and holding it out to Reaper. The man pauses, then shrugs.

“They're alright.” He crushes the cracker and holds out his hand, and Lúcio definitely sees a smile as the pigeon strides right up and starts eating out of Reaper's hand. Lúcio pursues the topic. “I've always wanted a macaw, but I don't have enough time right now to care for one of them. Still, it'd be really awesome. I'd get it a huge cage and all kinds of toys and maybe teach him some lyrics to my songs. And maybe a swear word or two. You know, for laughs.” Lúcio grins, half at himself and half because he still sees the smile behind Reaper's bandana. The awkwardness from before is disappearing, left behind at the casita as Lúcio takes the last cracker, snapping it in two. He hands one piece to Reaper, and Reaper holds it out to the pigeon.

They both can't help but laugh as the bird tries to grab the entire cracker in its beak, head dropping down from the weight. It tries to drag it away, but is promptly chased down by the other pigeons, and Reaper starts laughing, another snort coming which he doesn't even try to hide.

“Great. We started a pigeon war.” He says, and Lúcio just takes in the sound of the laughter. It's relaxed, as if Reaper is genuinely enjoying himself. It's—a surprisingly a soft laugh, floating around Lúcio like a welcome breeze. It makes the DJ realize that the Reaper on the battlefield, who cackles like a Disney villain, isn't really who this man is. It's becoming more and more obvious now that there's so much more to the man in front of him.

The rest of the day passes by pleasantly. They go to a nearby pet store and buy seed, and spend a good hour or more at the park tossing it to birds. Reaper even admits to modeling his mask after an owl, and Lúcio learns more owl facts in that hour than he knew existed. There's a nearby ice cream stand, and it reminds Lúcio of Junkrat's incident. He tells Reaper the story as he hurriedly tries to lick the double-chocolate fudge melting on the cone, knowing full well he's getting a ton on his face. He gratefully accepts the napkins offered to him, wiping off his face before holding the cone out.

“Want a taste?” He offers, and Reaper looks at doubtfully.

“It's got your spit all over it.” He remarks, and Lúcio mocks offense.

“I'll have you know, there's lots of people who would want my spit.” He pauses, then laughs. “That was supposed to be a jab at my fame, but it just sounded gross. But seriously, try it. It's really good and I'm not sick.” He pushes the cone closer to Reaper, who narrows his eyes behind the sunglasses, and lifts his bandana up slightly. Lúcio sees the tiniest flick of a tongue dart out, then Reaper swallows. Contemplates. Makes a noise of delight.

“That's really good. That's really sweet. I'm going to get one of my own.” And just like that, Reaper turns and heads back to the ice cream stand, coming back with a cone of his own. A double. Lúcio cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Guessing you like sweet stuff?” He questions, and Reaper almost looks embarrassed. Almost.

“It's good. It's easy for me to taste, too. My tastebuds aren't exactly in top condition.” He lifts his bandana up to eat, but keeps it down enough so Lúcio can't see his mouth. It makes Lúcio incredibly curious, but he respects Reaper's privacy.

“Sweet stuff is good. No shame in it, man.” He takes a long lick of his ice cream, enjoying it before he notices Reaper staring at him, and now it's his turn to feel embarrassed. “...What?” Lúcio asks, and Reaper shakes his head.

“You got ice cream below your eye, you idiot.” He says, and Lúcio tries to swipe it away with a napkin. “Other side--” Reaper comments, and then groans in frustration as Lúcio misses it. “No, just—here.” He licks his thumb, and leans in to wipe it away from Lúcio's cheek. Lúcio squeaks and pushes his hand away.

“Hey, HEY! You were just the one complaining about spit, and now you're trying to wipe my face off? With your _spit thumb?_ What are you, my momma?” Reaper rolls his eyes, trying to get his thumb at Lúcio's face again.

“It's bothering me—hey!” Lúcio licks another long stripe down his ice cream cone, then glances up at Reaper, who looks indigent. “You're making even more of a mess. What are you, a child? Hold still!” He barks, as Lúcio ducks the thumb, laughing as he backs up.

“Ew, ew! No way! Spit thumb, spit thumb! I ain't getting' touched by no spit thumb!” Lúcio laughs, speedwalking backwards as Reaper growls, stalking towards him with the thumb held menacingly out. Lúcio should be afraid, but he's not, because he can see the smile behind the bandana. It's like a game now. A challenge. And neither of them are backing down.

“Just sayin', I'm quicker than you, and you can't teleport to me in public! You fussy mama hen!” He keeps hopping backwards, sticking his tongue out—then hits a tree trunk with an “oof!” The shock is enough for Reaper to practically pounce on him, wiping the ice cream off with his thumb, and Lúcio responds with an audible _ew!_ as their laughter echoes around the park, Lúcio dabbing his napkin at the now-contaminated spot.

As he brings the napkin down, he stares up at Reaper. The man is so much taller, and he's practically blocking Lúcio in against the tree. He's panting slightly, exherted from running, and all at once, they're both hyperaware of how close they are, and Lúcio swears they both can hear his heartbeat.

He swallows, throat suddenly dry. When he speaks, it's not at all loud—it's a hushed whisper, a question beginning to form.

“Reaper, what are—”

There's a sudden yell of IS THAT HIM? and Lúcio and Reaper break apart, skidding back from the tree, and Lúcio sees a group of three young adults striding towards him, big smiles on their faces. He realizes he's been recognized—and he puts on a big grin, wanting to be kind, even if his head was in a tizzy.

“Heya!” He responds, waving and realizing his ice cream cone is dripping down the side. He wants to throw it away, but he's immediately surrounded by his fans, all looking equal amounts of nervous and excited.

“Oh my god, it's Lúcio—I'm your biggest fan!” One of them says, looking like they might pass out. Lúcio barely gets out a “wow” before the other cuts in, speaking so fast Lúcio barely has time to register what they're saying. Just “an honor” “so proud of your work” and “all of your cds” and he's flattered, he honestly is, but it's been a weird week for him and he isn't quite sure he's up for a long chat right now. The other, silent up until now, steps in and asks if they all can take a picture. Lúcio decides to comply, because he feels it's the nice thing to do, and they all three squeeze in, Lúcio doing his very best not to drip ice cream on them all. The selfie is awkward and he doesn't like how he looks, but they all seem so happy he keeps smiling. However, they all start talking at once again—and he wants to talk to them, he really does. But the ice cream is dripping down his hand and he's feeling kind of out of it—and he wants to say that, but they're all talking so fast. It's kind of overwhelming—

He's suddenly hyperaware of an arm around his waist, just barely touching him, but it feels like electricity. He freezes up, hearing the voice the arm belongs to telling his fans how Lúcio needs to get going, he has somewhere to be. They all nod and say one last goodbye—Lúcio thinks he says it back—and then the arm is away, and Lúcio wants nothing more than to grab it back and pull Reaper back to the tree.

But the moment is gone, and Reaper puts a good foot or two between them, tossing his ice cream into a nearby trash can. Disappointment floods through Lúcio as he follows suit—it was too melted to finish, anyway. He's not mad at his fans, not mad at Reaper—he's mad at himself. Because he knows he's completely out of line, wanting Reaper to press him up against the tree and touch his waist again, touch his face, lean down and let Lúcio say what he wanted to say. He knows he's absolutely out of his mind, craving touch and attention from someone who is only staying with him to be healed. To be fixed. And then he'll leave—as he should. Lúcio and Reaper are two different sides of a coin—a freedom fighter working for Overwatch, the other an international criminal straight from Talon.

There's no room for the two of them to be anything but temporary acquaintances while they finish this project.

He barely hears Reaper's gravelly inquiry of “Coming?” and he closes his eyes—holds back a sigh and perks up, flashing a half-hearted grin at the man.

“Yeah, I'm coming. It's getting kind of dark, we should go home.” Reaper just gives him a nod, staying ahead of Lúcio as they head back home. When they get home, Lúcio goes straight to his room, shutting the door behind him and falling onto his bed. He grabs his pillow and screams into it, chaos and bottled up emotions escaping him in a sorrowful song, a pitiful cry to the killer right outside his room.  
At this moment, the feelings Lúcio has are so deep, so painful, that even he thinks a song can't fix this. And so he lays there until the night washes over him, and his eyes finally shut, and he drifts off, unaware of the door quietly creaking open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be from Reaper's POV <3
> 
> hope you enjoy!


	5. Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper suffers an internal dilemma.

_”I'm a killer, cold and wrathful_   
_Silent sleeper, I've been inside your bedroom_   
_I've murdered half the town_   
_left you love notes on their headstones_   
_I'll fill the graveyards until I have you._   
_Moonlight walking, I smell your softness_   
_carnivorous and lusting to track you down among the pines.”_

The volume on the radio is lowered before Lucio's door quietly slides open, mist pouring out from the open frame. The faint light from the faraway kitchen illuminates the ghost that stands there, sunglasses tucked away and bright eyes gazing at Lucio from far back in the predator's skull.

They are not friendly. No longer flecks, the red in Reaper's eyes has become a spiderweb, tendrils of red splattering his pupils. His head was absolutely pounding—faint voices clawing at the insides of his skull, grinding their teeth at him and filling his head with unspeakable horrors. Commands to commit atrocities, to cover his claws in blood and sharpen his teeth by ripping skin from throats. The words are no longer static buzzings in his mind, but sharp pricks that send spasms of pain through his head, cloud his vision.

These horrors have been absent, and he thought, he _hoped and prayed,_ that they never would come back. For the few weeks he has been with Lucio, it's like he's had his own mind. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know why—maybe it's the idle chatter. Maybe it's Lucio's upbeat attitude, the little sway of his hips as if he's always dancing. The little bits of healing that are in every bat of the man's eyelashes, the flash of white when he smiles, and every word that falls from those soft lips.  
Whatever it is, it's kept him out of this unwanted headspace for longer than anything else has.

But now it's finally back. And he can't hold it in, he can't hold back these desires—who put them there? Were they always there? Screams inside his head to _kill slaughter eliminate take down the ones who took you down, when you were bent over from a kick in the stomach from him you loved him but he hated you despised you took everything from you._

Lucio turns in his sleep and smacks his lips, clutching the pillow close to him, and Reaper's gaze snaps to Lucio's midriff. His stomach, laid out—soft and ready to be torn out. Reaper feels his hands clench at his sides—each finger curling individually, pointed tips of his nails digging tight into the flesh of his hands. He can feel his palms bleeding, the blood turning to mist before it hits the ground. Lucio lets out a soft groan in his sleep—and Reaper watches as his throat moves slightly as he swallows.

_He is fake he is fake like everyone like the soldier like the ones who left you behind bleeding turning to rot_ the voices howl, and Reaper hunches over, the pain in his head making his stomach churn. His hands go out without thinking—claws settling over Lucio's neck, his hands like the mouth of a wolf. Ready to bite, snap, wring their prey by the neck.

A few minutes is all it would take. To suffocate the man. He may struggle—he may try his best and Reaper may see the hurt, the pain in his eyes—but it's nothing. That's what those words drilled into his head say— _nothing will compare to what they did to you._ In this moment, the anger in his veins flows hot and heavy, and there's nothing that should keep him from killing the man in front of him. Stifling his breathing, letting him still before his claws tear him apart, cover the room in nothing but crimson red and the last bits of his savior.

_Savior._

The word slices through the haze of darkness in his mind like a clean knife. Blurred memories and realizations, moments where Lucio could have stolen his last bit of life in him—and didn't. He took him home. He gave him a bed, no—a room. Food, clothes—somewhere to not be Reaper. To be—

Who?

Who was he before Reaper?

_Talon gave you a home Talon gave you your life back your revenge the reason the soulless husk you are keeps walking keeps talking keeps **breathing**_

His fingers twitch. He inhales, he sucks air so fast through his teeth he can't believe a muffled “mmm” is all that comes out of Lucio's mouth. So innocent—no. Not innocent. Lucio is not innocent, is he? He's been through trials and trauma and saw the opportunities, saw a chance and grabbed it and clambered to the top with a smile on his face and eyes shining bright as ever. He was not innocent—he was just _Lucio._ Seeing the world through bright, clever lenses, wanting to make a difference and grabbing the hands of those he wants to help along the way.

Reaper glances down at his hand—at the small cuts where claws dug in—and the memories are so sharp. So real, so colorful and bright compared to the screaming voices.

The memories of Lucio's hands. Tugging at his own, gently pushing his shoulder, brushing over Reaper's fingers as he tries to grab the remote from the ghost's hands.

Something wet dribbles down Reaper's cheek, and he bats heavy eyelashes, the blink feeling eternal as a fresh wave of pain roars through his head, not his own—a mechanical voice, like a recording, repeating the words _die die die kill kill kill revenge is the only way to end suffering_.

But as the tear dries up on his chin, dissipates into the air, Reaper grits his teeth. He digs his teeth into his lip to muffle a scream, ignoring the blood once again. He scrambles for anything, any memory—and he locks onto the first one that rises up. It's bits and pieces, all scrambled in his brain but it has to be real. He begs it to be real.

Lucio. Fingertips pressing against Reaper's arm as his shirt is grabbed. Tugs him. A room, the room where he felt the softness and the warm embrace of musical notes that clung to his skin and kept the _pain pain oh god it hurts_ away, kept it away. Lucio singing, fingers sliding up and down knobs and dials and speakers that soothe and heal and for just a moment he is not Reaper, he is Gabriel.

Yes. That's his name. Bittersweet and carrying the weight of many burdens, but that's his name and he wants to tell Lucio his name.

Lucio has to be alive for that.

Tears have been trickling down Reaper's cheeks the entire time the memory has rolled through his mind like a film. His claws give one final twitch before he pulls them away, allows Lucio another breath. Another day of glowing, radiating pure warmth and pushing his way straight into Reaper's heart.

The recording in his head rolls faster, the banging on his skull insistent and enraged at his choice. Reaper stumbles back as the noises grow deafening, and he feels blood beginning to pool in his ear, trickling down the side and onto his neck. He turns into mist—trying to escape the pain, but solid or not, it's in his head, bugs scuttling around in the bone and chewing up whatever is left of his brain.

He collapses on the rug in the living room, lips open in silent sobs, claws tearing at the skin of his forehead as if physical pain will draw out the mental agony he's been suffering for so long. All alone in the living room of an Overwatch agent's house, with voices that he's realizing are _not his own_ ringing in his head—it's pure suffering. He whines low like a hurt animal, hiding his face in his hands as if his scarred, battle-worn hands would protect him from the tragedy that was his entire life

He wants Lucio. He wants Lucio to hold his head above the toilet so he could properly empty his stomach, he wanted Lucio to hold him close, run his fingers through his hair and sing him to sleep. Shower him with the care Reaper hasn't had since he was a young boy with his mama. Falling asleep on a worn stool as his mama ran loving fingers through the curls of his hair.

_So good in school, Gabriel. Sharp with your mind and quick on your toes. We're all so proud of you. You're going to do great things, my little sparrow. You'll fly far and wide and mama will be so proud of you._

But his mama is gone, everything is gone. Except the man in the other room, and if Reaper had brought his hands forward—he would be gone too.

He's a killer. He knows this, Lucio knows this—and yet he's still here, living under the same roof as this angelic being who is putting aside everything to help Reaper. Tears are trickling down the ghost's cheeks, staining the casita's carpet and rising from the threads into a steam. Reaper inhales, calming himself down from the pulsing in his head that has spread to every bone in his body. Slowly, he dissipates into mist—sliding out of the living room and passing Lucio's room to his own, curling up on the bed, not solidifying, not _being._

Just laying there and trying to forget the pain and voices until the sun filters in the room.


	6. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lúcio has a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from now on, some chapters also include smut.  
> hope you continue to enjoy the story <3

_”I don't like them innocent_   
_I don't want no face fresh_   
_Want them wearing leather_   
_Begging, let me be your taste test_   
_I like the sad eyes, bad guys_   
_Mouth full of white lies_   
_Kiss me in the corridor_   
_But quick to tell me goodbye”_

Lúcio skates around Ilios, the music in his headphones sounding strangely far away, fading away with the sound of his teammates fighting. And yet he can't find them, no matter how hard he looks. Did they move ahead without him? He turns around the corner, hoping to find somebody. Anybody. And he does—a man with a mask, who grabs his arm when he rounds the corner and pushes him against the wall.

Reaper is horrifying—ready to kill, ready to consume Lúcio's lifeforce and leave him nothing but a soulless husk. Mask smeared with blood, chest heaving up and down with ragged, hungry breaths, he is a hulking figure of darkness, broad hips pressing Lúcio against the wall, forcing his back against the cold marble. Lúcio inhales, quick and sharp as he imagines himself dying—cut into pieces, crushed underneath thick boots, dying with claws around his throat and a powerful weight pushing him into the ground.

And yet—he's seen Reaper lounging around on his couch, hasn't he? Eating strawberry yogurt, lazily watching TV in incredibly baggy sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips. Lúcio blinks, and the ghost above him tilts his head. There is suddenly nothing but them, and Lúcio realizes Reaper isn't wearing his full garb. Instead, he slides closer to Lúcio, the thin fabric of his skirt rubbing slightly against Lúcio's hand. The medic takes a deep breath, staring up at the mask. He wants to take it off—wants to see the man's eyes, feel his lips, touch him and learn every scar, every blemish and imperfection.

But his lover has other plans—claws starting at Lúcio's cheek, cupping it, rubbing fingers lazily over his lips. Lúcio flicks his tongue out, lapping at the very tips and heavily enjoying the metallic taste. His breathing quickens as the claws start a slow descent down his neck, so sharp and yet doing nothing more than gently grazing his skin. He can't hold back his moan, tilting his head slightly so more of his neck is exposed.

“Oh god...you're a tease.” He whispers, but there's a smile on his lips and he knows his eyes must be large, blown with lust as he dares to peek up at Reaper. He feels so small below such a tall, monstrous being, and it turns him on more than anything ever has. Arousal, hot in his belly and pooling to his groin, fuels his bravado and he reaches to slide his hands up Reaper's exposed waist, fingers rolling over a tight, warm stomach and stopping at the very beginning of the croptop.

“I want to kiss you so bad. So bad, ...” Lúcio whispers, the smile still on his face as he brushes a finger over the soft fabric, playful as he adds a “please” to his request.

Reaper shakes his head 'no', ignoring Lúcio's mild pout as he leans down and presses his face into Lúcio's shoulder. The smaller man's disappointment evaporates as Reaper's fingers trail just a little farther down to stop right above Lúcio's waistband. One hand slides between Lúcio's legs, and Reaper speaks, voice low, vibrating through the singer's core, every hair on his body standing up on alert. A predator's growl, lustful and dangerous, that courses through Lúcio like a storm, electrifying and powerful.

“You're already so wet. For _me_.” Says the monster, purring into the crook of his prey's neck.

Lúcio has to grabs fistfuls of Reaper's shirt, because his legs feel weak and if he doesn't hold on to the man, he swears he'll melt into the floor.

Reaper chuckles as he begins the process of pushing Lúcio's pants down, and it's sudden as he falls to his knees. Lúcio watches as he pulls his mask up, and although he's disappointed he can't see anything from his current vantage point, those feelings are quick to disappear as slightly wet, warm lips began to kiss at his abdomen. He clamps a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose. Reaper keeps moving up, still in control even as he crouches, claws careful but possessive as they grip Lúcio's hips. He trails the kisses right up to Lúcio's chest, tongue flicking out, lapping at Lúcio's nipple and drawing a keen from the DJ. Reaper's tongue wets the sensitive skin, and he hums in appreciation as it hardens beneath the steady laps.

Lúcio is so turned on and he doesn't know why, but he's ready to cum. Everything is so overwhelming and barely anything has happened—and before he can stop himself, he's begging. “God, just fuck me—please, I think about this all the time. I need you. I want you—I don't know why but I need you more than I've ever needed anyone...!” Needy whines fall from his lips, face red with embarrassment, but he can't bring himself to care. He needs something, anything—

He is rewarded with a rough yank of his waistband down, and he hears the telltale click of Reaper unbuckling one of his gloves. Lúcio blinks, trying to clear the fog from his head—and then everything is blown away. Nothing matters except the fact that Reaper is sliding a finger into him, just one finger that's thick and hot and Lúcio _whimpers_ because it's heavenly. His hips stutter forward, fucking himself on his enemy's, his friend's fingers—god, what is Reaper to him? Lúcio can't focus on the question, just the sticky noises as Reaper pushes his finger in and out, going deeper and deeper each time.

Lúcio wants to tell him everything, wants to scream out dirty thoughts and flustered confessions, but all he can do is grab one of Reaper's shoulders, steady himself as his stomach winds itself up, pressure building in his abdomen. He's vaguely aware of Reaper's other hand holding him up by the waist—and then he's aware of nothing as the finger inside him hooks, and Lúcio is seeing stars, is blinded by pleasure and light and--

BEEP BEEP BEEP his alarm is going off, and he's jolted awake, laying in bed with sticky thighs, sweat beaded on his forehead and Reaper nowhere to be seen.

Fuck.

Lúcio slams the pillow over his head and rolls over, groaning in complete disbelief. He isn't a teenager anymore, he's an adult, and yet here he is having wet dreams about his friend. A friend who happens to be the most dangerous man he's ever met. Lúcio's face is still burning, and the stickiness on his thighs is drying up and feeling heavily unpleasant.

He rolls out of bed with a grunt, kicking his boxers off and heading to the bathroom. When he gets there, he peers in the mirror, squinting his eyes at the shameful man he sees. He jabs a finger at his reflection, curling his lip.

“You are gross.” He grumbles, turning and chucking the rest of his sleepwear onto the floor. He had fallen asleep last night with his prosthetics on—so tired that he hadn't even noticed. He starts unhooking his legs, leaning them against the wall as he pulls himself into the shower and up on the chair inside. Lúcio turns on the faucet, letting out a yelp as the water comes out too cold. His mind is obviously still not clear. He pulls the expandable shower nozzle and sprays himself on the face, rubbing his eyes as the water trickles down his skin.

He still feels sensitive, shivering as he washes his thighs, biting his lip as he pulls back the lips of his vagina to clean the inner parts. Touching himself like this is starting to bring back vivid memories of his dream, and he finishes quickly, frustration growing—trying to angrily grab for the soap and watching as it slips out of his hands, landing on the other side of the shower. Lúcio stares at it with a miserable look, as if the soap is a psychical manifestation of his regrets.

It's been two weeks. Things had been alright—he had decided to just put a payment down on the casita for a month for multiple reasons. One, he was too involved in his work to be bothered to move. With a tour coming up, he now had to juggle practicing for that as well as working on his song for Reaper. Two, Reaper himself had seemed to get quite cozy in the casita.

Lúcio had entered his room earlier and was greeted with—well. Lúcio just had a distinct memory of someone he knew back when he was 14, who was _very_ into gothic décor. Reaper had discarded the vacation-home furniture that had come with the casita in favor of a more personal brand of furnishing. Black sheets, pillows, and a silky curtain decorated the once normal bed, and there were a variety of weird, unsettling knicknacks scattered about the room. Lúcio had curiously poked the plastic crow settled on top of a shelf, turning to Reaper with a cocked eyebrow.

“Where did you find this stuff? A year-round Halloween store?” He had asked, and Reaper's intrigued noise was enough to make his cheeks warm up.

“That exists?” He asked, tone hopeful. Lúcio looked away so he could hide the big grin blossoming on his face at Reaper's eagerness.

“I don't know. But we can look for one, if you want?” Lúcio offers, and the little grunt of approval from Reaper warmed Lúcio to the core, like hot chocolate, clutched tight to hischest on a cold day.

But now, his shower feels cold and the drops of water are not refreshing. If anything, he feels suffocated, weighed down by confusion and shame, feelings that fill his stomach with knots. He abandons the soap and just rinses himself quickly, turning the shower off and sliding out of his chair. He moves himself with his arms, careful not to slip, and pulls himself on the chair outside of the shower, next to his prosthetics. He spends the next few minutes cleaning them—it's a welcome distraction. He can't rid himself of these feelings that have steadily been growing, day by day, so he focuses on wiping away dirt and dried sweat.

He finishes too soon, sighing as he begins to fit the prosthetics onto his legs. As soon as they're firmly on, he gets up, striding into the bedroom and looking for something to wear.

As Lúcio idly browses through shirts, his mind—of course—drifts to Reaper.

When did Reaper become something he woke up for? At first, it was a challenge. He would heal the man, turn him away from darkness, set him free on new, strong wings. But something happened along the way, his noble quest stopped short by the man himself. Lúcio had expected Reaper to be a pain in his side as he tried to help him.

What he didn't expect was for Reaper to completely consume his thoughts, his inspiration, his big 'ole sympathetic heart.

Reaper, with his honest laugh, chuckling at ridiculous commercials and outright _snorting_ in glee at Lúcio when he spills coffee on his shirt. Reaper with his blood-flecked eyes, bright but sunken back into his face, weary from the past. Reaper with his broad chest, rough hands and his beautiful thighs, lounging on the couch in tight tanktops and thin skirts. Reaper glancing at him from behind sunglasses when he thinks Lúcio isn't watching. Subtle looks that hurt Lúcio more than anything the spirit has ever done to him on the field.

Reaper with his mouth hidden, his chest always covered and hair kept tucked tight under hoodies and beanies, hiding away the simple parts of his body, hiding his past, the marks and stories written on his skin. Lúcio mourns every minute that he can't see Reaper's rare smiles, stolen from him by a bandana or a mask. It hurts him in ways he's never knew were possible. Pining is every bit as ridiculous and searingly painful as every pop singer has lead the public to believe, and Lúcio wants nothing more than to laugh it away, create a masterpiece that saves Reaper and then separates them forever.

And then he can spend the rest of his life thinking of the ghost and all the could have beens and never should have beens.

Lúcio decides he needs to focus on something besides his feelings for Reaper. He tugs on a shirt that says “Radical” on it in a bright pink 80's font and couples it with a comfy, coffee-stained pair of sweatpants. He picks a pair of headphones off his dresser and slides them on, starting to hum to himself, get his train of thought heading towards a musical destination.

As he steps out of his room, he's suddenly assaulted with an onslaught of different smells—bacon, pancakes (blueberry?) syrup and well-cooked eggs. He inhales happily, and heads to the kitchen, the source of the smells.

Reaper is in there, currently in the middle of chopping up cilantro into tiny pieces. Lúcio watches, captivated, as the literal personification of death sprinkles said cilantro onto four neatly cooked eggs. Reaper turns his attention to the stove, takes the spatula and neatly flips the slices of bacon he's cooking. But the biggest surprise is when Reaper turns around—and not only is he wearing Lúcio's cute “Kiss the cook” apron, but his face is _completely uncovered._

Lúcio stands there in complete shock, taking in the entirety of Reaper's face. He's seen his eyes—but the rest of him? Scars streak across his cheek, riding slightly up onto his nose, reminders of terrible battles won? Or perhaps lost? Lúcio isn't sure. But it's Reaper's mouth that truly captures Lúcio's attention. His lips are chapped, slightly cracked, all relatively normal things. But the side of his cheek is what really draws attention. Reaper is facing him—and the right side of his cheek is half gone. The top is held to the bottom by strands of thin skin, the rest is a gaping mess. Small holes pepper the space around the bigger gap, as if someone took a little pencil and stabbed them into Reaper's skin. The skin is flaking, disappearing into nothing and then reappearing as the hole is slowly filled up. But it doesn't stay filled for more than five seconds before it begins to disintegrate. There's glimpses of white through the hole, teeth that Lúcio can also see through parted lips. They're sharp and jagged, more like a predator's teeth than anything human.

Lúcio realizes that the air has grown thick with the tension that came from his staring. He clears his throat and directs his gaze towards the buffet Reaper was cooking.

“Shit, that looks really good.” Lúcio comments, saliva beginning to pool in his mouth now that he was looking at the food. Reaper grunts in acknowledgment, going to the fridge and rifling through their drink collection.

“Orange juice alright?” Reaper questions, and Lúcio pauses mid-bite of a juicy bacon strip. He keeps it pinched between his fingers as he contemplates the question.

“Yeah. Orange juice will go perfect with all this. Speaking of _this_ , what inspired you to uh...make it all? I mean, it's great, I really appreciate it.” He didn't add that it was just kind of...unexpected, coming from Reaper. No reason to make the man feel bad about the fact that Lúcio wasn't used to his kindness. He really did appreciate it.

Reaper shrugs, pulling out the orange juice container and giving it a shake to mix it up. “I like cooking. Haven't had a chance to do it in a while.” The ghost murmurs, going straight to where the cups were. It warms Lúcio's heart in an odd way, the fact that Reaper seems to know where everything else.

“I used to cook for my family all the time. And...others.” Reaper pours them two cups and sets them on the table before going back to the stove. “I liked trying new things, but you can't go wrong with the classics. My mama taught me how to season the eggs like this.” He pauses. “You'll like it.”

Lúcio is sure he will. He heads over to the stove to offer any help, but Reaper merely shoos him away. So he goes to the table, sitting on the chair and leaning his head on the table, watching Reaper work. The man looks...relaxed. A rare right. Usually, there's always some sort of tension in his guest's shoulders. Even when Reaper is doing something as simple as watching television, his shoulders are hunched up, ready to defend himself at any given moment. But as he ghosts around the kitchen, he looks comfortable, like he's truly enjoying himself. It brings a little smile to Lúcio's lips, which doesn't last long as he remembers his dream.

He suddenly wants to slump down in his seat, cheeks going red as he successfully flusters himself. Reaper comes over and puts a plate down in front of him, and at that moment he decides that being around the spirit any longer will just lead to some _really_ confused feelings.

He jumps up and snags his plate, balancing it on one hand and sliding his fingers around his cup to pick it up. “I just—I got some serious inspiration for the song. Your song.” He flashes a blinding grin at Reaper, who almost looks...disappointed. Lúcio feels his heart sink, but it doesn't stop him from heading out of the kitchen. “Thank you _so_ much, Reaper. This will really help the gears to spin. It looks delicious.”

He's got one foot in the hallway when Reaper mutters something, and Lúcio turns his head again so he can hear better. “Come again?”

Reaper is silent for long enough that Lúcio thinks he's not going to reply, but he does, and the answer has Lúcio's eyes going wide.

“You don't...need to call me Reaper. My name is....Gabriel.” A pause. “Gabe. You don't have to use that nickname if you don't—are you crying?!” Reaper—no, Gabe, exclaims.

And Lúcio is. He didn't quite realize it until it was pointed out, but there are tears streaming down his cheeks, lips hanging open partially in shock. There he goes again, randomly opening up to Lúcio in such a honest, blunt way that it metaphorically knocks Lúcio off his feet. He sniffs, wipes at his eyes as he sets his plate and cup on the counter and walks over to Gabriel.  
His arms go around the man's neck as he pulls him into a tight, warm hug, closing his eyes to keep more tears at bay. He feels Gabriel tense up underneath him, but Lúcio keeps the hug going, fingers digging into the other man's sweater.

Lúcio wants to stay like this forever, not fussing over his own feelings, pushing Gabriel away when the reason he brought him here is to help him. He pulls away, the smile returning to his lips as he looks Gabriel right in the eyes. Gabriel keeps their gazes locked for a few precious seconds before glancing away, ducking his head in an obvious sign of insecurity. He must feel gullible, Lúcio realizes. Showing Lúcio his face and then telling him his real name.

Lúcio feels a pang of guilt as he realizes he was so close to ruining this opportunity, and he pushes aside his own worries and extends his hand to Gabriel. “Do you want to join me? Having you in the room alongside your delicious meal will double the creative juice flow.”

Is that a smile he sees tugging at the edges of Gabriel's lips? Lúcio thinks so. Gabriel lets out a sigh, gripping Lúcio's hand tightly and pulling himself up from the chair. He's not wearing his gloves, and Lúcio's heart skips a beat as thick fingers close around his own. The feeling fades as Gabriel pull away to grab his own plate and cup, and Lúcio mourns the loss. But Gabriel sidles up to him a little closer than necessary, and the feelings come rushing back. Lúcio decides he can't keep frustrating himself by overthinking, and that at least for today, he should focus on the now.

So he makes small talk as he grabs his own breakfast, which is a little colder than before, but still smells delicious. He and Gabriel both head into his recording room, and Lúcio slides a piece of bacon into his mouth as he begins to fiddle with dials on the soundboard. Music begins to pour from the speakers—a pleasant tone, electronica mixed with a smooth piano tune in the background. Lúcio begins to hum, tapping two fingers on the soundboard as he chews and swallows, groaning in delight. “Damn, Re—Gabriel. Damn, that's some good food! We gotta call one of those Food Network shows and get you on air. You'd beat everyone.”'

He turns and once again is in for a pleasant surprise. Gabriel is smiling—and for once, it's not covered up by a mask or a bandana. It's out in the open, the dying skin flaking off to expose even more of the sharp teeth hidden beneath, a little awkward. Some would say it's monstrous, some might even cover their eyes.

Lúcio thinks it's the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

A smile directed at him.

Lúcio's cheeks are growing warm, and he forces himself to stay focused on Gabriel's face while he's speaking.

“I would kill myself if I was on one of those shows. It's all drama, and I don't need some judge eyeballing my mama's secret recipes and telling me what's wrong with them.” Gabriel cants his hips a little, a habit Lúcio has grown to love. It's cute—and rather attractive. Lúcio just shakes his head at Gabe, turning back to the soundboard.

“They wouldn't have anything bad to say about them, I'm sure. Those eggs were cooked perfectly.” He leans over his soundboard, doing his best not to jut his butt out. It's a subconscious movement, he's not _trying_ to be a flirt. It's just happening.

Maybe because he wants it to happen.

He doesn't look behind him, afraid Gabriel might be smiling again. Or staring. The idea makes his heart start pounding, and he turns the music up a little louder. The warm feeling in his chest, the slight burning between his thighs, and the flush to his cheeks—it's all coming together into inspiration. Lúcio begins to mumble words, grabbing a notepad and a pencil and beginning to jot down lyrics underneath ones already written.

They stay like this, Gabriel eventually settling down into one of the beanbags as Lúcio whispers lyrics to the tune of the music, furiously writes—then erases. Five minute, ten minutes—it's bordering on half an hour when Lúcio lets out a loud, excited “ah-hah!” and startles Gabriel from his doze.

“Jesus—” Gabriel sputters, hand hovering just above where his gun would normally be. Once he realizes everything is fine, he yanks it away, instead turning to glare at Lúcio through narrowed eyes. “I thought you were trying to heal me, not scare the shit out of me.”

Lúcio waves him off with a hand and a chuckle, his other hand tightly gripping the notepad. “Sorry, sorry, but I'm done. I'm done with the song. The first one—I'm sorry it's taken so long, I really am.” He starts fiddling with dials, turning the volume up and down to the perfect level. He bends down, foot tapping in excitement as he pulls up a small box, keeping his fingers tightly clasped around it. “Get comfortable, Gabriel. I'm about to blow your mind. Or heal your mind? Heh, either works.”

Lúcio ignores Gabriel's little grunt of “I was relaxing” because he knows there's no actual malice behind it. He's learning how Gabriel works, and it's those kinds of things that allowed him to create this song. Humming to himself, he pulls the device out of the box, carefully unfolding the cables and plugging them into the soundboard. He can see Gabriel's curious look out of the corner of his eye, and he lifts up a finger and smiles. “Just relax, and wait.” Lúcio says, and Gabriel lets out a sigh, rolls his shoulders, and leans back into the beanbag.

Lúcio finishes plugging in the little device, pushing on a simple, glowing green button to power it up. His nerves are beginning to act up and he decides the sooner he starts, the better. He slides his headphones on as the machine begins to hum, and he starts to wave his hips, placing his fingers on top of the small contraption.

The room begins to pulse as dark green waves begin to lick at the bottom of Gabriel's feet. The ghost lets out a soft gasp—surprised, but obviously not upset about it. Lúcio feels encouraged, and lets a minute and fifteen seconds pass of pleasant, energy-filled enhanced music. Not a lot of bass—no, Lúcio stuck with quick, soft beats, like little bits of electricity, sparking inside his listener's body. They are meant to rejuvenate, to heal.  
He opens his mouth and starts singing, the contraption picking up his voice and altering it slightly to match the song.

_Where, where are you_   
_ghost inside my walls_   
_stalking, looking for someone to see you_   
_looking for reprieve_

_I hear you, I hear you_   
_I hear you loud and clear_   
_Come now my ghost_   
_I am near_

_Near_____near . . ._

He inhales, heart pounding in his chest, and belts out the chorus, fingers fitting tightly over his headphones to keep the music in.

_Sympathy, sympathy_   
_You are my symphony_   
_Of soft words and warm stares_   
_For me to know you're there._

_Sympathy, sympathy_   
_Let me hold your hand_   
_and scream_

_for you!_

_Sympathy sympathy_   
_Let me and you_   
_be whole_   
_again_

It's such a short chorus, but it feels like he's been singing for hours. His voice drops to a whisper of nothing as the remainder of the song plays out. Fear suddenly grips his heart and Lúcio is afraid to even look at Reaper. Gabriel. What if it hadn't worked, what if the song was a failure—

He glances up and sees Gabriel crying.

Lúcio's headphones are off in an instant, and he finds himself running to Gabriel's side. The music is still playing as he drops to his knees next to Gabriel, reaching one shaking hand to hover above one of Gabriel's tears.

And then he sees it.

The open wound on Gabriel's face has closed up. It's not completely gone—not like a neatly healed slice on Soldier 76, or a patch of skin replaced on Roadhog's shoulder. This is reversing death, defying death—a morbid and confusing concept, but the point is that _it's working._ The strands of skin have pieced themselves together, leaving only a few holes left. He feels like crying himself, but keeps it together for the sake of the moment and closely examines the man in front of him.

Gabriel's lips are less chapped, and the dark, heavy bags under his eyes have faded by a few wrinkles. Lúcio finds him so beautiful, but not for the reasons one would think. Yes, it's wonderful Gabriel looks less like a distressed corpse, but what's really gorgeous is the peaceful look on his face, the relaxed slouch into the beanbag. Gabe's lips are slightly parted, and he's inhaling soft and blissful breaths, hands folded neatly over his chest. The tears rolling down his cheek are of happiness, Lúcio realizes, and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He begins to stand up—but his arm is grabbed by a thick hand, pulling him back to his knees. Lúcio experiences a brief moment of confusion before he realizes it's Gabriel's hand. He blinks and leans down, dreads pooling around his shoulder as he opens his mouth.

“Gabriel...?” He whispers, heart throbbing so noisily he thinks it'll drown out the music. He can feel a warmth radiating from Gabriel, who was always chilled to the bone. It draws him a little closer, lashes batting slowly against his cheek as he waits for an answer. Several seconds pass, Gabriel's hand still on his arm, and then the ghost speaks.

“Thank you.” So quiet, Lúcio can barely hear over the music. Lúcio leans in a little more as Gabriel continues to speak. “The song is beautiful. It feels...so good. So fucking good, Lúcio. You did...” A deep breath of what Lúcio realizes is relief. “A wonderful job.”

Lúcio's heart swells with pride, and he leans so close to Gabriel that there's barely an inch between the space of their foreheads. Hands still shaky, he takes one of them and slowly slides it on top of the hand on his arm. He gives it the tiniest squeeze, a small grin playing on his lips.

“This is the first of many, Gabriel....I swear. We're gonna make you feel better.” Lúcio feels Gabe's hand tighten around his own, a slow return to the squeeze as the ghost's lips twitch up into a peaceful smile.

“Stay with me.” Gabe murmurs, holding Lúcio's hand so firmly that Lúcio wonders if he'll ever get it back. But he doesn't care. There's a beanbag right next to Gabriel, and Lúcio slides into it. Pushes his worries and frantic thoughts from earlier today aside, and he allows himself a small reward in the form of carefully resting his head on Gabriel's shoulder.

No flinching, no pulling away. Gabriel's hand just stays nestled inside his, and they lay like that. Peaceful, free of pain as the music gently ushers them both into a dreamless, calm sleep.


	7. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucio and Reaper have a heart to heart.

_"You make me glow, but I cover up_   
_Won’t let it show, so I’m_   
_Putting my defenses up_   
_Cause I don’t wanna fall in love_   
_If I ever did that_   
_I think I’d have a heart attack”_

As the rambunctious tune of the commercial faded away into the familiar drone of the cooking show they were watching, Lúcio stifled a sign. A solid two days had gone by, and Gabriel had hardly said a word to him. The ghost ate his meals alone in his bedroom, drifted through the halls in silence, and didn’t even strike up conversation during mundane moments – like tv commercials.

Lúcio hiked his knees up to his chin, thoughts and worries swirling inside his skill as he dared to glance over at Gabriel—and their eyes met, as the phantom appeared to have been staring at him. Gabriel’s eyes darted away immediately, and Lúcio made a frustrated noise, turning his body so his feet settled onto the couch as he faced Gabriel, who was stubbornly avoiding his eyes.

“Okay.” Lúcio began, frustration evolving into bravery as he sought out a long-overdue conversation. “Are we going to talk, or is our new ‘ _thing’_ just uncomfortable silence?”

Gabriel scoffed, an aggravating noise that had Lúcio narrowing his eyes at his companion. He took a deep breath, counting to a beat of ten before speaking again.

“Look.” Lúcio began, keeping a steady gaze directed at Gabriel. “I’m sure you feel…vulnerable? Scared? Maybe even angry? I don’t _know_ how you’re feeling, and I don’t want to keep guessing…so can we talk? Please?”

He was rewarded by Gabriel craning his head slightly towards Lúcio, eyes lidded slightly – all three of them. Lúcio had learned shortly after their little conversation that Gabriel’s body was constantly re-creating new features, blemishes, and general additions to his body. Today, he was sporting three eyes – two regular ones, and then a narrowed one right on his forehead. Three eyes, Lúcio thinks, and just _now_ he looks at me. Gabriel still hasn’t spoken, and Lúcio shifted slightly, forcing himself to be patient.

Finally, Gabriel spoke.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He said, and Lúcio groaned out loud, pressing his fingers to his temples.

“Gabriel—please. I’m not judging you, I don’t want anything from you--!” Lúcio was startled out of whatever his next thought was by the short bark of Gabriel’s laughter. The ghost shook his head as all three eyes narrowed at Lúcio.

“Really. Are you _sure_ you don’t want anything from me?” Gabriel leered, and the implications of the words hit Lúcio hard—embarrassment and anger boiling up inside him, ears flushing and stomach twisting in unpleasant knots.

His expression must have been shocking, because Gabriel’s entire demeanor changes. Lúcio doesn’t stick around to see the regret, springing off the couch with hot tears brewing in the corners of his eyes.

“Lúcio—fuck, I didn’t mean it--!” Gabriel yells after him as Lúcio storms into the kitchen. The DJ swings open the fridge, taking deep breaths as he grabs a soda, feeling even more vulnerable as he notices his hands are shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gabriel lurking at the very edge of the kitchen. Lúcio counts to ten in his head once more, opening the soda. The little _fzzzt_ that sounds in the air is deafening. He tilts his head back as he takes a long swig—then promptly spins around on his heels as he brings the can back down. He doesn’t meet Gabriel’s forlorn gaze—just stares at the floor, forcing himself to contemplate his words so he doesn’t say anything he’ll regret.

“That.” He begins. “That was really uncool.”

Gabriel winces ever so slightly, claws tapping against the side of the stainless-steel counters. Lúcio continues.

“I’m sure you’re feeling defensive—but you have to tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours. Really try to talk to me. No jabs.” Lúcio heaves a sigh as he finishes, taking another sip of his soda.

Gabriel stays quiet for a long time, and Lúcio has to stay patient. He’s still a little hurt from before, but he pushes those feelings aside, just for a moment. For Gabriel.

The other man finally opens his mouth to speak. He hesitates for just a second longer, eyes flitting around the room with nerves before he begins.

“I’m…sorry.” Gabriel murmurs, steel toed boot trying to dig a hole in the kitchen floor.

“I haven’t. Um. Talked about my feelings in a long, _long_ time. It hasn’t come easy for a while. It feels like….I really shouldn’t be here. You don’t deserve a miserable, old ghost skulking around your house. Using all your fancy soaps.”

Lúcio allows himself a tiny chuckle before he switches back to the serious tone of the conversation.

“Gabriel. I really—and listen to me—REALLY am glad you’re here. I think you need this.” Lúcio pauses.

I need you, Gabriel.

The thought came into his head so vividly he feels a moment of whiplash. His mouth hangs open like a fish and he just stares at Gabriel, unsure of what to say after such a personal revelation. Gabriel tilts his head ever so slightly, apparently waiting for Lúcio to finish. But Lúcio isn’t sure how to continue—clear brown eyes connecting with three sharp red pupils as he swallows. His lips move, forming what he’s scared to think of—

The doorbell rings.

Lúcio almost jumps straight up on the counter as Gabriel bristles, the little bubble they were suspended in popping as the piercing sound of the doorbell echoed throughout the house.

Lúcio wheezes, fear creeping in his heart as he hears Hana’s unmistakable voice from outside.

“Lúcioooo! Come on, let us in!”

Lúcio’s eyes meet Gabriel’s, and he sees panic in them. They both know Gabriel is nowhere near well enough to shadow-step without painful consequences. Lúcio jerks his head towards Gabriel’s room and whispers urgently, “Go!”

He gives Gabriel a few seconds to make a mad dash towards his room before Lúcio turns and practically leaps to the door, throwing it open and coming face to face with Hana and Junkrat.

“Helloooo, my little recluse!” Hana exclaims joyfully, throwing her arms around Lúcio’s neck and almost knocking him out with the grocery bags slung around her arms. “Me and Jamie are here for a surprise sleepover!”

Lúcio blinks dumbly at her as she pulls back, and Hana tuts at him as she sticks her hip to the side, looking like a mother ready to lecture her child.

“You’ve been really caught up in your work recently! I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks, first the battle and now a _huge_ concert—but I’m worried for you! Luckily, me and Jamie have got the goods for a whole night of fun!” She explains, gesturing to Junkrat, who grin wide and holds up his own bag.

“We got so much shit, mate,” Junkrat says, pride in his voice. “Nail polish, video games for streamin’, lotsa chips and soda, and _firecrackers_!” Junkrat enunciates the “s” on the end of firecrackers with an unsettling intensity.

Lúcio stares at the two beaming faces in front of him, sweat beading on the back of his neck. He forces a smile on his face, guilt dancing in his stomach and he’s hit with the upsetting realization that he’s been ignoring his friends…in favor of Gabriel.

“That’s what ya do for love!” Junkrat chirps.

Lúcio’s face goes red, and he lets out a startled “w-what?” Both Hana and Junkrat give him confused stares, and Hana presses a cool hand against his forehead as Junkrat repeats himself.

“We did this for ya because we love ya!”

Lúcio lets out a soft “oh” as Hana pulls her hand away from Lúcio’s forehead.

“Lu, you’re burning up. Are you feeling okay? Ah man—did we catch you when you’re sick?”

Lúcio shakes his head, dreads bouncing through the air with the intensity of the movement.

“No, I mean—yes? Kind of? I was, uh, about to use the bathroom.”

Hana lets out an “ew” at Lúcio’s comment, causing Junkrat to break out into hyena-like laughter. The mild chaos allowed Lúcio to slink away with a quick “be right back” and scramble into his bathroom.

Once there, he plops onto the closed toilet seat, crossing his legs as he ponders over the situation.

After a few agonizing seconds, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts. He needed to talk to someone—anyone. Well, anyone who wouldn’t judge him. He passes each name, feeling even worse as he imagines the reactions of every name he scrolls past.

Zarya would most likely charge right into the casita, guns blazing as she screams death upon her foe. Hanzo and Pharah would be no better—and Soldier 76 along with Ana seemed even worse. Lúcio had picked up from observation and rumors that there was history between all of them. He pauses on a few names. Mercy? He had caught her several times casting pitiful glances at Gabriel—Reaper—during fighting. Zenyatta? Lúcio ditched the idea almost as quickly as it came. Despite the omnic’s peaceful ways, the recent attack on one of the monasteries probably hit too close to home for Zenyatta to be comfortable with the idea of talking about the cause of the attack.

Lúcio pauses on one name with a little pistol emote next to it—McCree. Lúcio had seen the way McCree cast long, sorrowful glances towards the ghost when they had fought against Reaper. Once, Lúcio even heard him whisper something akin to a prayer when near the man in black. Being a healer meant getting close and personal with your patients, so Lúcio had the small advantage of knowing some of his team’s more private reactions.

He hesitated, then quickly wrote out a message. He was desperate—and even if he chickened out, he could at least give McCree a little verbal pick-me-up.

Frogboy: Hey!

-lil’ gay cowboy [sixshooter] is offline-

Lúcio sighs as he stares at the screen, typing out a message for McCree to see when he’s online.

Frogboy: I have a kind of a weird question

Frogboy: HMU when you get this

Lúcio glances at the name slightly above McCree’s and sighs _again_. He’s running out of options—and this particular person is probably the least judgmental out of their whole group. He slowly types out a message, biting his lip from nerves, and hits send.

Frogboy: Hey, I need your help.

Jrtherat: do u need more toilet paper

Frogboy: I’m not using the bathroom.

Jrtherat: uh ok

Frogboy: I needed to step out for a moment.

Frogboy: Jamie I…

Frogboy: I have someone over.

Jrtherat: oh

Jrtherat: ohohoho

Jrtherat: lucy you cheeky lil boy ;)

Frogboy: uggh jamie no not like that

Lúcio inhales deeply, pressing the phone to his forehead and trying to will away his anxiety. It wasn’t working, so he just sucks it up and keeps typing.

Frogboy: It’s a guest I’ve been helping out

Jrtherat: helping out w/a little gobbie eh

Frogboy: Jamie if that’s what I think it is

Frogboy: Gross

Jrtherat: just sayin’

Frogboy: No

Frogboy: No, no “gobbies” involved.

Frogboy: I’ve been giving him some much needed medical attention and a place to crash.

Jrtherat: aw

Jrtherat: u hav got a heart of ggold Lucy <3

Frogboy: Yeeeaaahh…

Frogboy: Jamie what I’m about to tell you is a secret

Frogboy: Like a “never let it slip” ever, ever secret

Frogboy: Like, EVER

Frogboy: Until I can tell people myself

Jrtherat: geez ok ok

Jrtherat: wtf you hiding mate

Frogboy: Um

Frogboy: Well

Jrtherat: come on spit it out

Jrtherat: no judgey here luvvy

Frogboy: Reaper.

Lúcio hears a shrill shriek from the next room, and slams his own palm against his forehead.

_Dammit Jamie_.

Jrtherat: WAT

Frogboy: What the hell was that noise.

Jrtherat: shut it I told hana it was just me bein me

Jrtherat: no what I shuld b sayin is

Jrtherat: what the hell were u thinking!!

Frogboy: I thought you said no judging

Jrtherat: IM NOT

Jrtherat: just freaking out cus ever1else will

Frogboy: We. Are. Not. Telling. Them.

Jrtherat: hhhh lucy

Jrtherat: not even hoggie

Frogboy: NO.

Frogboy: Jamie, please. This is serious. He’s been just resting here for weeks.

Frogboy: No chaos or killing. Just relaxing.

Frogboy: I think…this is what he was like before.

Frogboy: Before Talon? I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.

Jrtherat: ok

Jrtherat: but how do u know?

Frogboy: I don’t know for sure.

Frogboy: I just found him hurt and had a gut feeling I could help change some things.

Jrtherat: u did that with me

Jrtherat: :)

Frogboy: Heh.

Frogboy: I guess I did.

Jrtherat: see ok

Jrtherat: i got a little spooked

Jrtherat: but i trust u

Jrtherat: but if the others found out…

Frogboy: I know.

Frogboy: I know I need to tell them.

Frogboy: But not yet..

Jrtherat: wot about hana

Frogboy: I don’t know yet.

Frogboy: You guys can spend the night but…

Frogboy: We have to keep her unaware

Jrtherat: got it

Jrtherat: she luvs u, u know

Frogboy: I know

Frogboy: I’m just scared to tell her

Jrtherat: well.

Jrtherat: lets just get thru 2night

Frogboy: Okay.

Frogboy: Thank you, Jamie

Jrtherat: of course

Jrtherat: now get on outt here

Jrtherat: hana is worried

Frogboy: Haha, okay.

Frogboy: Here I come.

Lúcio pockets his phone and runs his hand through his dreads, shoulders heaving as he lets out another shaky breath. He stands up from the toilet lid, goes to the mirror to wash his face—then almost _screams_ at the reflection of Gabriel standing behind him in the mirror.

“Ok, that is _enough_ of the Houdini act.” Lúcio wheezes, hand clutching the fabric of his own tank top like a lifeline. Gabriel mutters a “sorry” and Lúcio glances around his bathroom, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“What are you doing in my room anyway?” Lúcio questions, using his foot to kick a stray pair of boxers underneath his sink and out of view. The fact that Gabriel was here was a problem—the casita was built in a way that the hallway connecting to both their rooms was easily seen from the living room and even certain parts of the kitchen. It would be near impossible to get Gabriel from one room to another without Hana noticing. Even a small shadow-step could give him away with a tell-tale mist.

“I panicked.” Gabriel’s response broke Lúcio out of his train of thought. He cocks an eyebrow at Gabriel, unable to keep a little grin off his face.

“You…panicked?” Lúcio teased, with the implication that both him and Gabriel knew the older man was a trained fighter, and yet he _panicked._ Gabriel knits his brows together and huffs as a small blush blossoms on his face. The reaction in turn makes Lúcio’s heart beat a little faster. Who would have thought that three scrunched up eyes above decaying, flushed cheeks would look so cute? Lúcio ducks his head, one finger twirling a dread around as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Well…stay in here for now. I have to entertain guests.” Lúcio turns to leave when Gabriel speaks, sounding mildly upset.

“Wait. You aren’t going to tell them to come back?” He asks, and Lúcio turns to Gabriel with a confused look on his face.

“W…hy would I do that?” He replies, befuddled by the question, and also a little worried. Gabriel wasn’t going to attack them…right? Gabriel seems to sense his unease, and goes to assure him, an action that leaves Lúcio feeling rather warm.

“No, they can just stay, just—” Gabriel’s hand goes up to the back of his neck, voice lowering along with his gaze in a bashful display. “We were, uh. Having a talk, and…just. Nevermind.” He finishes in a huff, hand falling back from his neck and folding over his other as he crosses his arms.

Lúcio feels a new wave of guilt wash over him, and his voice softens in a show of compassion.

“Gabriel…” he murmurs, and carefully takes a few steps closer to the man, reaching a hand out and holding it palm out for Gabriel. The ghost eyes it warily, eyes narrowed as he contemplates taking it. After a few seconds, he unfolds his arms and slowly glides his hand over Lúcio’s. Gabriel’s claws slide smoothly over Lúcio’s skin, sending a shiver down the DJ’s spine as their palms meet.

Lúcio places his other hand on top of Gabriel’s, rubbing his thumb soft and slow over the other’s worn skin.

“I need to be with my friends…I’ve been neglecting them a little.” Gabriel opens his mouth to say something, and Lúcio shakes his head. “You’re not a burden, please don’t say that. When I set my heart on something, I tend to get very…well, involved, I guess. This isn’t the first time this has happened.” Lúcio gives the ghost’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“As soon as they sleep, or tomorrow, we can talk. Can you wait? You can text me too.” Lúcio closes his mouth, and waits for an answer. When none comes, he glances up at Gabriel, blinking in concern.

“Gabrie—…”

The name dies softly on his lips as he stares at Gabriel, blood rushing to his cheeks.

Gabriel is gazing down at him with what could only be described as _puppy eyes_ , the red blown up and a watery film pooling at the corner of his eyes. His lips have curved up into a tiny, grateful smile as he looks down at Lúcio, who just stares with red cheeks and his thumb stilling on one of Gabriel’s knuckles.

“You’re…so sweet.” Gabriel murmurs, as if he’s half talking to himself. “I want you to know, before you go…that I really…truly appreciate this all. Thank you.”

His hand goes up, hesitating just by the side of Lúcio’s face—then he runs his thumb across Lúcio’s cheek. So gentle, Lúcio feels like a piece of fine china.

The DJ can’t help the little whimper he lets out—a mixture of joy and confusion as he leans his cheek into the touch. For just a moment, he lets himself forget about all the worries piling on his shoulders, and instead lets the presence of the claw on his cheek lull him into a moment of blissful vulnerability.

Of course, the moment ends—because there’s a noise, the turning of a doorknob, that sends them both reeling. Gabriel flings himself towards the closet, swinging the door closed as Lúcio stands there dumbly, staring at the door as Hana shoves her head in.

“ _Dude_ , what are you doing?” She cocks an eyebrow at Lúcio’s outstretched hand, now reaching towards thin air, and whispers a soft “oookay.” She turns and yells behind her—“Junkrat, he’s just being a weirdo artist or whatever”— and then turns back to Lúcio. “Come on, we’re ready to play! I mean, if you’re feeling okay.”

Lúcio would love to NOT play and instead rewind time and finish his moment with Gabriel, but instead, he just slaps on his best smile and half-whispers “Just a little tummyache. I’ll survive.”

Hana grins, which helps Lúcio to relax, if just a bit. She strides forward and loops an arm through his, grinning. “By the time we’re done playin’, a tummyache will be the least of your worries. You should be more worried about how sore your ass is gonna be after I kick it!”

Lúcio can’t help but laugh at that, letting Hana pull him into the room, where Junkrat is waiting for them. When Hana wasn’t looking, Junkrat makes the zipping-lips motion, and Lúcio gives him a thumbs up in return.

The night does turn out to be quite fun, and Lúcio is able to enjoy it well enough, even with the back of his mind screaming “WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH GABRIEL.”

He does have one conversation with Gabriel, awkward and short. Gabriel had installed the chat client Lúcio used, and his username was…exactly what Lúcio expected.

Deathwalker: can you get me something to eat

Deathwalker: not consuming souls and shit makes me extra hungry

Deathwalker: if you want to, i mean

Frogboy: Sure. Give me a minute.

Frogboy: I’ll cook for all of us and sneak you a plate.

Deathwalker: ok

Deathwalker: sorry about all this. for earlier too

Frogboy: Don’t be sorry. Please.

Deathwalker: hm.

Gabriel says nothing more, and Lúcio only sees his arm when it slides out of his room to grab the plate the DJ brought to him.

The rest of the night goes by in silence from Gabriel and _lots_ of noise from his friends. There was one horrifying moment where Hana almost grabbed one of Gabriel’s shirts to use as PJs. As she reached for the bundle, Lúcio grabbed it, stammering out how the shirt was dirty.

He silently scolds Gabriel. The spirit is usually so neat, but _today_ he had to leave something on the couch.

Luckily, Hana didn’t notice the giant black combat boots at the door, and Lúcio was able to stuff them under the sink.

He tries not to think too hard about the fact Gabriel was so comfortable living here. It did things to his heart and stomach.

Finally, _finally_ , Hana and Junkrat crash from the eventual drop of their sugar rush. Lúcio is so close to joining them as they occupy the pillow and blanket nest on his floor, but there’s the nagging thought at the back of his mind to go check on Gabriel.

He carefully picks his way around his friends’ sleeping bodies, almost jumping as Junkrat lets out a little snore.

As quietly as he can, he presses his hand onto the door and slides it open, the creak agonizingly loud in the silence. He glances back at the living room, but everything still seemed normal. So he takes a deep breath and tiptoes to his room, shutting the door behind him with quiet success.

He turns to face Gabriel and fist-pumps with a quiet “yes!” Gabriel, who is sitting at the base of Lúcio’s bed, snickers in the back of his throat as he stands up.

“Going to bed? I think it’s safe for me to go to my room now.” He cocks his hip with a raise of his eyebrows, glancing at the door. “Now that the rugrats are asleep.”

“Hey,” Lúcio quips, folding his arms. “Be nice. Those rugrats are my friends.” He pauses before answering Gabriel, feeling his heart begin to speed up. Calm _down_ , he tells it. But it won’t.

“Yeah, you can go now. They’re out.”

Gabriel nods and starts to head towards the door before Lúcio stops him by speaking again.

“You don’t need to be sorry, y’know.” Lúcio whispers, fidgeting with the end of his PJ top. “About earlier. I…”

It was now or never, or at least it felt like it. Lúcio had been bottling his feelings up for a solid month or so, and he was beginning to feel like a soda can, shaken up thoroughly and ready to explode. The DJ wasn’t one to keep to himself—he loved to be open, share his woes and joys and connect with people through them. Lúcio sang straight from the heart—and he felt like he was doing himself a disservice to not _act_ from his heart in this situation. He takes a deep breath—just another one from the many he’s taken during the day—and speaks.

“I liked it. Don’t…don’t apologize. I wanted more but I had to stay away for a bit, but it wasn’t because I was running away.” His entire face is hot, and he doesn’t dare look at Gabriel, just bravely continues on.

“I know we’re from two different worlds and really we shouldn’t be talking but, I…I can’t focus on that right now. Honestly? I want to feel your touch. I love spending time with you, and the rare moments of laughter, you really have a good laugh—shit.” He swallows, forcing himself to pause before he can’t stop himself.

“…Lúcio.” Gabriel’s voice is so low, yet it slices through the silence of the room. Sharp, like the jagged teeth hidden behind the broken flesh of Gabriel’s mouth.

Lúcio feels heat begin to pool in his stomach. He swallows, and gives a little laugh. Nerves.

“Yeah?” He barely moves his lips.

“If that’s how you feel, then…I’m not going to apologize for what I’m about to ask.” Gabriel replies, and steps forward, causing Lúcio’s heart to jump straight into his throat.

“…Go ahead.” Lúcio whispers, a million different thoughts exploding in his mind.

Gabriel stares down at Lúcio, red eyes piercing as he wets his lips with the very tip of his tongue. Lúcio feels faint—and he’s the guy who does live concerts in front of thousands of people, all of their eyes on him.

But there’s something different about a look when it comes from Gabriel. Lúcio feels vulnerable and excited all at once, heart pounding and blood rushing in a frantic melody of desire.

“May I kiss you?” Gabriel whispers.

The beat drops.

Lúcio blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“Yes.” He hears himself say. “Please.”

Gabriel’s claws close in and cup his face, drawing Lúcio up to meet him.

Their lips touch, and the melody of desire soars into a new rhythm.

Gabriel tastes like ash, a little sour yet also something akin to cinnamon and a deep, savory sip of wine. Lúcio feels like he’ll never get enough, their lips pressing tight, Gabriel’s claws tangling themselves through Lúcio’s dreads, them back to his cheeks to draw him in closer.

When they finally break apart for air, Lúcio wants to dive right back in, but he forces air into his lungs instead. Looping his arms around Gabriel’s neck, he tries to find his voice.

“J-Jesus, that was—” he stares up at Gabriel, who seems tongue-tied, shoulders heaving up and down and damp limps parted slightly in a pant.

“Good.” Gabriel finally says, one knee going up to gently push Lúcio back, closing the small gap between them and the bed.  “I want more.”

“Oh god, me too.” Lúcio breathes, the feeling of the mattress bumping against his hip eliciting feelings between his thighs.

Gabriel’s arms, strong and chilling when they touch Lúcio’s heated flesh, wrap tight around the DJ’s back as the ghost looms over him. The second kiss is a little less frantic, a slower melody as Lúcio slides his tongue carefully between Gabriel’s lips. The taste is stronger there and it makes Lúcio’s head spin, his heart pulsing and mixing with the little whimpers coming from his mouth.

One, two beats, and Gabriel lets out a low hiss, the noise rippling through Lúcio’s skin and ending in a little jolt at the base of his spine. His fingers curl around the base of Gabriel’s neck, and he cants his hips forward, basking in the ragged gasp Gabriel lets out, followed by a soft “shit.”

Lúcio has a million questions he wants to ask, but he settles on one as he pulls away for a breath.

“Do I look good?” He questions, wanting nothing more than for Gabriel to desire him. Find him _delectable_ , put his mouth on him and taste and devour him like a piece of meat.

He’s never been so turned on by a concept before.

Gabriel’s expression is almost comical—he looks highly offended by the question.

“Lúcio. You look fucking <i> _amazing_.” </i> The last word is a growl as Gabriel dips his head, pressing his mouth to Lúcio’s neck and leaving little kisses and nips, his lips claiming each patch of skin as he travels down Lúcio’s collarbone, muttering as he goes along.

“Looking at you makes me hungry. And—and not in a bad way, just—you’re beautiful. You’ve seen your smile in the mirror, I’m sure you know.” Gabriel praises, suckling on the very tip of Lúcio’s collarbone.

Lúcio lets out a little whine as he tightens his grip on the back of Gabriel’s neck. Everything Gabriel’s saying is sending him to cloud 9, soaring on the praise, a shaky smile growing on his face.

“C-come on, Gabriel…you’re driving me nuts.”

“I hope so.” Gabriel smirks against Lúcio’s chest, lifting his head to kiss at the scruffy little patch of Lúcio’s goatee.

His claws have been stubbornly clinging to the fabric on the back of Lúcio’s shirt up until now—they’ve begun to roam, rubbing circles into the dips of Lúcio’s hips.

Lúcio can barely stand it anymore—he wiggles in Gabriel’s grip, leans forward with a smile turned cheeky and whispers low in Gabriel’s ear.

“Did…did you want to fuck?” It comes out like a purr as Lúcio plays with the end of Gabriel’s curls, twirling them between his fingers.

It’s so sudden. Gabriel’s face falls and he squeezes his eyes shut, uncertainty written all over his features. Lúcio quickly draws his hands back, laying one at his side, keeping the other resting lightly on Gabriel’s wrist.

“I…I don’t think I’m ready for that.” Gabriel’s voice is slightly shaky, and Lúcio gives his wrist a soft squeeze.

“Hey…hey, it’s okay.” Lúcio murmurs, sympathy mixing with disappointment at himself and the fact he may have rushed Gabriel into this. “We can just lay together, or you can go back into your room. Whatever you want. Don’t feel pressured…it’s okay.”

Gabriel mouths something to himself, shifting his hand to twine his fingers with the ones on his wrist. He takes a few deep breaths, little bits of mist rising off his hair—then finally opens his eyes, gazing down at Lúcio.

“I’m…I’m alright staying. I just…I’m not ready for you to see me so vulnerably. I’m…I’m a sight, that’s for sure.” Gabriel explains, soft and quiet.

Lúcio makes a sympathetic “ _th_ ” noise with his tongue, giving Gabriel’s hand a small squeeze.

“That’s okay, really. It’s understandable. But just so you know, I’m not disgusted or scared, or feel anything negative looking at you. I think you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” Lúcio gives the ghost a playful wink, attempting to cheer him up.

Gabriel chuckles at that before going silent as he thinks. After a moment, he slowly brings one arm out and presses the palm of his hand against Lúcio’s back.

“Let’s meet halfway.” Gabriel suggests, beginning to rub small circles on Lúcio’s spine.

“Let me suck you off.”

Lúcio lets out a weak “wah” and grips Gabriel’s hand for support, head quickly resuming its earlier spinning.

“Y…you don’t, you don’t have to do that. That’s not fair to you.” Lúcio balks, face so hot it feels like he’s going to melt.

“I want to. I’m fine. It’s…it’s. Uh. Honestly…something I’ve been…” Gabriel’s voice trails off as he glances down at Lúcio’s thighs.

“I’ve wanted to see what you taste like for a while.”

Lúcio pulls his hands back so he can cover his face, falling back on his bed and letting out what could only be called a moan.

“That’s so hot. Gabriel, that’s…t-that’s so hot. I want that so much if you’re okay with it.”

He inhales to steady himself, peeling his hands away from his face to peek out at Gabriel, who is staring at him with wide eyes, pupils blown up with lust. Lúcio finds his voice again and continues talking.

“J-just to be clear…I’ve got different junk down there. One grade-A pussy, so..”

Gabriel snorts, beginning to crawl over to Lúcio, stopping when he’s firmly settled over the smaller man, grinning down at him, visibly relaxed.

“Just tell me what to do.” He whispers, planting a kiss on Lúcio’s nose. The DJ nods, thighs pressing tight together as Gabriel slides his hands down Lúcio’s side and begins his descent downwards.

Gabriel pays attention to detail. He roams his claws down Lúcio’s sides, seeking out spots to press and rub that has Lúcio squirming. Nips and kisses on random parts of his body, on the hunt for erogenous zones. Gabriel hits the jackpot when he finds a good combination of rubbing right below Lúcio’s nipple while sucking on the inside of the dip of Lúcio’s hip. Just a moment or two there and Lúcio is a writhing mess, and Gabriel hasn’t even dipped below his waistband.

Lúcio is sopping wet and every little thing Gabriel does has his clit throbbing, and one hand finds the short, curly mohawk resting on top of Gabriel’s head, balling his fingers up into the hair.

“G-Gabriel, come on, you’re teasin’ me…mmm, fuck,” Lúcio’s head rolls back onto the pillow. As an answer to his begging, Gabriel lets out a growl—grabbing Lúcio’s waistband and yanking his shorts right down to his knees. Lúcio’s gasp is of genuine surprise—and he has to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the shrill moan he makes as Gabriel sinks his teeth into Lúcio’s inner thigh.

The bite stings, but Gabriel is being careful not to break skin. The ghost glances up at Lúcio for confirmation that everything is okay. Lúcio gives him a shaky thumbs up, and a smug smirk finds its way onto Gabriel’s face.

Lúcio is driven wild as his skin is accosted by a flurry of bites and long sucks, hickeys blossoming on the musician’s thighs. Lúcio keeps his hand clamped firmly over his mouth—except when he pulls away to whisper to Gabriel.

“You’re a tease, y-you’re a complete tease, you ass.”

Gabriel lets out a honest to god _purr_ against Lúcio’s thigh, letting out a hot breath against the damp spot on Lúcio’s boxer briefs. He sneers in delight as Lúcio’s back arches, the robotic toes on Lúcio’s prosthetics clicking softly as they curl.

“You’re not being very nice yourself, Lúcio.” Gabriel murmurs, one claw going to trace a blooming hickey.

“ _Gabriel_.” Lúcio groans, kicking his foot lightly against Gabriel’s back.

“Maybe I am a little tired.” Gabriel opens his mouth in the fakest yawn Lúcio has ever seen, white teeth seeming to glow in the darkness.

“Gabriel, you said you wanted this so just _fucking do it_ you giant DOOFUS.” Lúcio snaps, giving one of Gabriel’s curls a little tug.

Gabriel cocks an eyebrow at him.

“You can say fuck, but you say doofus?” He asks.

Lúcio heaves a heavy sigh, and brings both his hands down to cup Gabriel’s cheeks, careful not to prod the open wounds.

“Gabriel.” Lúcio says with a sickeningly sweet tone.

“Yeah.” Gabriel responds, in the most bored voice he can muster, lips still turned up in a smirk.

“Either you get your mouth between my legs right now, or I’m going to take matters into my own hands and sit on your face.” Lúcio whispers, gently stroking down the curve of Gabriel’s jawline.

It’s amazing how quickly Gabriel’s demeanor changes. The smirk falls, and Lúcio’s hands are warmed up as Gabriel’s cheeks heat up beneath them.

“…Oh.” Gabriel <i> _whimpers_ ,<i> a noise Lúcio would not have expected to come from a literal personification of death.

They sit in silence for a moment, staring at one another, before Gabriel grabs Lúcio’s hips and flips them in a new position. Gabriel’s head lands on the pillow as Lúcio finds a spot straddling Gabriel’s chest, already kicking his shorts off the rest of the way.

“Guess we know what you want.” Lúcio mutters, ignoring Gabriel’s weak “shut up.” It was his turn to be smug now—planting his hands firmly on Gabriel’s chest, beginning to move his hips to rut against the other man’s chest. It’s just a little relief, but it’s good for a brief moment, Gabriel’s pecs a perfect bump for Lúcio to press his clit against. Between that and the fabric of his underwear rubbing against his cunt, he felt more blood filling his clit, perking the nub up and making it more sensitive by the second.

He doesn’t want to stop, but he does, knowing that what comes next will be even better than this. He slides his fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs, glancing over at Gabriel to gauge his reaction.

Any worries he had dissipate immediately when he sees Gabriel’s face.

The man has his tongue out, lapping up a line of drool that has fallen out of his mouth. His eyes are lidded and trained directly on Lúcio, cheeks dark red and his entire expression _hungry_.

And oh, does that look do wonderful things to Lúcio’s heart.

It’s like an adrenaline rush—he shoves his underwear off, feeling the wetness cling to Gabriel’s shirt. He pulls himself up as he kicks them off, completely bare from the waist down. He slides his hands down beside Gabriel’s head, bracing himself as he slowly wiggles his hips.

“Ready?” God, his voice sounds so low.

Gabriel nods, and Lúcio pulls himself up, moving his hands to the headboard as he brings his hips down, settling himself down onto his lover’s face.

He lets out a delighted moan as Gabriel’s claws fly up, taking in generous amounts of Lúcio’s ass in his hands, pulling him further down.

Gabriel’s nose is brushing against the very side of Lúcio’s clit, and it’s _almost_ just right. Lúcio shifts his hips around, thrilled by how compliant Gabriel is. The ghost is just heavily inhaling Lúcio’s scent, breathing out heavily every few seconds and making Lúcio shiver in delight. He finally finds the perfect spot, where the very tip of his clit is pressed against the lower bridge of Gabriel’s nose.

He gives a tentative thrust forward—and almost smashes his head against the bed as his whole body jerks in delight. Cum oozes out of his entrance, and Gabriel chooses this moment to flick his tongue out and lap it up with the enthusiasm of a starving man.

His tongue is not only forked—there’s a _definite_ cold, little nub that rubs against the edge of one of Lúcio’s lips, and Lúcio has never been so thankful that piercings existed until now.

He begins to thrust with a little less restraint, letting out low keens as Gabriel’s tongue dips in and out of his hole with each thrust. Lúcio is having trouble staying quiet—and he bites down hard on his lip in an attempt to stifle the noises. But then Gabriel takes his tongue and licks a straight stripe from Lúcio’s hole to the very base of his clit, and Lúcio’s hand drops away as he _cries_ with bliss.

“Nnn—fuck, Gabriel, you’re doing great…” Lúcio groans, hips bucking as Gabriel weaves his tongue between the lips, giving the left one a good, long suck. Lúcio keeps praising him, enjoying the positive results.

“Yeah, y-yeah…the sucking is great—I love your piercing. I-I love this. Ah—more tongue, p-please. A-and if you want…” Lúcio has to take a deep breath as Gabriel’s tongue threatens to make him choke on his words. “If…y-youuu oh god, right there—uh, ah, a-a finger would be great— _mmph_.”

Gabriel obediently brings one of his hands down from Lúcio’s ass, sliding it down the tight bundle of flesh, and begins to slowly circle Lúcio’s hole, his claw adding a particularly interesting feeling to the motion.

Lúcio is hand nervous, half eager for the claw. Will it hurt? He flicks his tongue over his lips, wondering if he should maybe hold off on the fingering—

Gabriel slides his finger inside.

Any doubts the DJ had completely evaporate. He _moans_ louder than he should. It’s a completely new feeling, the claw, but Gabriel is careful as he begins to pump it in and out and Lúcio is completely blown away by how amazing it feels.

A familiar feeling is beginning to curl inside his stomach, and he begins to thrust with reckless abandon, whimpering out “S-suck my clit?”

He knows he sounds filthy, but he doesn’t care, and it seems that Gabriel doesn’t either, if the way he goes after Lúcio’s clit is anything to go by.

It’s pure bliss—Gabriel sucking on him like a piece of candy, making needy little growls as he moves his claw in time with Lúcio’s thrusting.

Still, Lúcio is startled at how quickly he reaches an orgasm—teetering on the edge with a throaty gasp of “don’t stop, I’m c—” and then he chokes as it hits him, hands dropping to grab Gabriel’s shoulders as he rides out the _intense_ rush.

It feels like an eternity, but when it ends, Lúcio feels like a _rock_. Heavy and drained, he rolls off Gabriel’s chest, landing next to him with a weak “oof.”

It’s silent for a moment, then he whispers.

“That was amazing.”

Gabriel lets out a sigh of relief, followed by the sound of a belt buckle jingling, then a soft _zzzzzp_.

Lúcio’s clit gives an interested twitch at the noise, but he’s too tired to do much besides snuggle up to Gabriel with a soft whisper of “Can…I listen?”

“Was hoping you would.” Gabriel hisses in relief as the soft sound of flesh on heated flesh begins to sound in the room. Mixed in is the “tnk” of metal being tugged, and although Lúcio keeps his face hidden in the crook of Gabriel’s arm out of respect, he can only imagine what kind of metal is down there.

Gabriel’s little noises, gasps and growls and the occasional hiss, are music to Lúcio’s ears, and he joins in with soft coaxes of praise.

“You sound amazing. God—I could listen to you all night, Gabriel.” He squeezes Gabriel’s arm and leans into his ears, cheeks burning as he whispers.

“Though, you sounded better when I was, y’know. Suffocating you.”

Gabriel _chokes_ as he orgasms, and Lúcio hears the quiet noise of cum hitting the sheets. He can’t bring himself to care, just to pepper kisses against Gabriel’s shoulder as they both wind down, filling the room with ragged pants.

Lúcio can’t stop the exhaustion already overwhelming him. He lets his eyelids flutter shut, muttering a little “I loved that” into Gabriel’s arm.

He doesn’t hear Gabriel’s quiet reply as sleep overcomes him.

\---

Lúcio wakes up to the sound of the microwave beeping in the next room. He blinks, wondering what Gabriel is making for breakfast—

Wait.

He jerks up, startling Gabriel, who jerks awake with a little snarl, eyes flashing as they open. When he realizes there’s no actual threat, he turns to Lúcio—and they stare at one another as the situation sets in.

The doorknob turns.

“Goooood morning!” Hana announces cheerily as she opens the door to Lúcio’s room. “Why didn’t you sleep with us, you g—”

The cup she’s holding drops. As it shatters, Lúcio’s only thought is “ _there goes my security deposit._ ”

Hana screams.

Gabriel bares his teeth and screams right back for her to _“GET OUT._ ”

Junkrat peers around the corner with a poptart in his mouth, looks at the chaos, then gives Lúcio a shrug and a thumbs up.

Lúcio puts his head in his hands.

The alarm clock goes off.


End file.
